


in the blue hours of morning

by tapdancinglorax



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alone in a little house in the woods, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Institutional Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Possible Character Death, Samwell Men's Hockey, The Haus (Check Please!), This is a strange au, Violence, there will be relationships just not yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tapdancinglorax/pseuds/tapdancinglorax
Summary: Somewhere deep in the Samwells woods, there's a rickety old house. In the house, there are nine kids.
Relationships: Ollie O'Meara/Pacer Wicks
Comments: 43
Kudos: 50
Collections: omg stream! please Fics





	1. prelude

“Good morning, all,” the teacher says.

“Good morning,” they echo back.

“Today we will learn numbers,” she says, pointing at the screen, “Like the ones on your neck.”

They are numbers.

They are nothing.

*

“What was your name?” the boy he shares a room with asks, once.

“It was Ollie, I think,” he says, “But that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I don’t remember mine,” the boy says, “‘Cept my last name.”

“What was it?” he asks, staring at the bottom of the top bunk.

“Wicks,” he says, “It was Wicks.”

*

There are only three chosen from each year to move to the next level of training. No one knows what they do with the rest. They say they take them back to their parents, but Ollie doesn’t believe them. Wicks does.

“I’m not that good,” Wicks says, even though he is. There’s only one person better than the pair of them in their year, 8373285. “Maybe I’ll see Mama again.”

Ollie doesn’t know how to tell him it’s more likely they get shot in the back while they pretend to leave.

They both get selected. So does 8373285.

Wicks cries like a baby. So does the other kid. Ollie just watches the other kids walk away and wonders, what if?

*

They get sent to a house up north, creaky and cold and in the middle of a dense patch of woods.

“What the hell is this place?” Wicks says, trying and failing not to look scared. Their few possessions have been stuffed into duffels slung over their shoulders. 8373285’s shivering.

“Welcome to the Haus,” a voice from above them says. They jump a foot in the air. Ollie looks up, and another boy with matted hair and crazy eyes is perched in a tree. “It’s where they keep us.”

“What do you mean?” Ollie asks. “We’re here to train.”

The boy laughs, and it’s crazy. “Bull. Shit. We don’t train. This is where they keep the powerful ones, the ones who can do shit. The dangerous ones. The other kids get to fuck the fuck off home or stay and join the military and be heroes. Us, we get to sit on our asses and try not to die every five days.”

“Who are you?” The other kid asks, voice small and insecure.

“Name’s Shitty,” the boy says, and swings down to the ground. His hands are bloody. “Welcome to Samwell.”

*

The Haus is too small for all the boys inside. There’s Johnson, a weird-ass shadow of a person who sits in the corner and writes in notebooks. No one knows where the notebooks come from, because “we only get one every three months or so. They fucking multiply like rabbits.” There’s Ransom, who spouts off random knowledge about whatever the hell he wants to at any given moment. There’s Jack, who doesn’t come out of his room and hissed at Ollie when he went in there by accident on the first day.

“Yeah, no, we leave Jacky-poo alone,” Shitty said, closing the door Ollie opened. “Everyone’s some level of crazy here, but Jack’s basically fucking feral. Me and him were real close, at first, but he’s fucking lost it since then.”

The kid seems excited by the kitchen.

“You got names?” Shitty asks that night. They’re on the nasty ass green couch in the living room, watching some old movie no one knows the name of.

“Wicks.”

“Ollie.”

The other kid shrugs.

“Hey, two for three, that’s pretty fucking high. Last year no one knew their goddamn names, I had to name all them like some goddamn little lost kittens. What should we call this one, Johnsy?”

Johnson looks up for a moment, cocks his head, and then says, “Bitty.”

“You are a fucking shrimp, kid,” Shitty says, “How’d you even pass the physical tests?”

Bitty shrugs.

“Doesn’t matter,” Shitty says, “Hey, anyone heard from Lardo and Holster?”

“You’re the one with the walkie-talkie, Shits,” Ransom says. He’s slumped against the door.

“Oh, right,” Shitty says, and laughs. “I am. I haven’t heard from them.”

Someone bangs on the door.

“Speak of the devil,” Shitty says, and Ransom steps aside and opens it. A large, blonde man and a tiny girl with the rattiest hair Ollie’s ever seen step through the door. They’re carrying bags and bags and bags of shit.

“Start of the month supply run was good,” the dude says. “Murray and Hall were there, snuck us some good shit.”

“Weed?” Shitty says, his grin returning. 

“Hell yeah,” the girl says, “And some other essentials. Like more movies. And notebooks. And chocolate. And, the best one...” Her voice lowers to a whisper, and she grins. “Milk. We can make  _ ice cream.” _

Everyone starts screaming. Even Johnson looks up for that one, grinning.

“What happened to your hair, Lardo?” Ransom says when everyone’s calmed down. Lardo grimaces.

“Ran into you-know-who,” she says, obviously pissed, “I had to dunk into a briar patch because I couldn’t get up a tree fast enough.”

“Shit,” Shitty says, appraising the situation, “Lards, I think we’re gonna have to give you the chop.” She grimaces.

“Hey, Shits,” she says, deflecting, “This bag’s full of meds and shit. They gave us enough for like… three years because they found out no one delievers us that shit anymore.”

“Nice,” Shitty says, “Oh, fuck, you guys, there’re new people!”

“Hell yeah!” Lardo yells. “I forgot it was drop day! What’d you name them?”

“Two already had names,” Shitty says, “Ollie and Wicks.”

They wave. “Bore-ing,” Lardo calls. “We gotta get them some better names. Nicknames, some shit.” Ollie and Wicks look at each other, wondering what the hell is happening.

“And this one, he didn’t, and Johnson named him Bitty, which works because he’s fucking tiny,” Shitty says, motioning to Bitty. “He doesn’t talk very much.”

Bitty shakes his head.

“He’s very shy,” Shitty says, even though he has know way of knowing that, and laughs. “Fuck yeah for Hall and Murray, how much weed?”

“Gallon ziploc,” Holster says. “We can add it to the stash.”

Shitty throws his head back and literally howls.

“Got beer too, for those of you who don’t like to be high off your rocks like this asshole,” Lardo says, “Although if you just got out I guess you wouldn’t know.”

Wicks threads his fingers through Ollie’s and squeezes. Ollie squeezes back. They’re both confused.

They both wish they weren’t chosen.

*

Someone starts a bonfire out back. “It’s tradition,” Ransom explains. He and Holster seem like the least crazy of the bunch. Johnson comes out. Jack doesn’t.

“What’re your powers?” Ollie asks, Wicks tucked into his side. They’ve had more alcohol than they thought was possible, and it turns out it makes Wicks sleepy.

“I have superhuman strength,” Holster says, motioning with his beer.

“Superhuman stamina,” Ransom says.

“I’m telekinetic,” Lardo says, “I can move shit with my mind. Big shit, too, that’s why I’m a problem.”

“I can manipulate fire,” Shitty says. “Burn whatever the hell I want.” He steps into the flames, and Bitty jumps to his feet, alarmed. “Flames don’t bother me, either.” He steps out, clothes burned away. “Haven’t figured out how to protect other shit from burning yet.” Lardo tosses him a pair of boxers.

“He does this at every bonfire,” a voice behind them says. Ollie jumps, before realizing it’s Johnson. He’s a weird motherfucker.

Johnson looks at the sky and says, “I can see the future.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“I can phase through things,” Ollie says, and lets himself drop through the chair. Someone whistles. “Can teleport around, too.”

“I can go invisible,” Wicks says, “Inaudible, too. I’m a stealthy motherfucker.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then Bitty says, “I can make things out of nothing...”

“What?” Shitty says, after a beat.

“I just,” Bitty motions at nothing, “Pull things from the air.”

“Pull a six pack from the air right now,” Lardo says, lounging upside down in midair, floating, and Bitty does. Lardo cheers.

“All our fucking problems are solved!” Shitty says. “Don’t ever need to go on fucking supply runs ever fucking again.” Everyone cheers. Bitty shrinks further into his chair.

They’re quiet again for a moment, and then Wicks says, “Where’d the other kids go?”

Shitty stiffens. “We don’t talk about the other kids,” he says, and he squeezes his beer can tighter. “They’re off-limits.”

“I’m the oldest one here,” Johnson says, monotone. “I’m the last one from my group left, and I’m probably not going to last much longer.”

“Don’t say that,” Holster says. “You’re going to be fine.”

“We don’t live very long before we go feral, out here,” Johnson says. “Before the insanity sets in and we forget we’re people. It’s either that or the wildlife gets you. It’s just the truth. I’m lucky to have made it for this long. Shitty and Jack’s third went feral and ran off into the woods within two weeks. Jack lasted maybe a year after that.”

“Why don’t you just leave?” Bitty blurts out. He’s holding a can of beer, and his hands are shaking. “Why don’t you just go home?”

“If the animals don’t kill you, the guards at the gate will,” Lardo says. She’s sitting cross-legged in midair now. “Gate’s far away, but it’s there. We don’t leave, Bitty. We just hope we can live to see our twenties.”

“They came and got one of my group, once,” Johnson says. He stares into the fire. “Said he was needed on the outside, and for weeks, I was convinced they would come for me, too. I can see the fucking future, what’s not to love? But they never came back, and I’m still here.”

“Oh,” Bitty says. “Oh.”

“It sucks,” Shitty says. “You get used to it in a few weeks. You’ll  _ like  _ it after a while. You can do shit and use your powers and you have a name, finally.”

“I remember my momma,” Bitty says, and the mood drops. “I don’t remember her name or her face or anything about her except her voice. I remember loving her.”

“I remember my dad,” Wicks says. “He owned a garage. It was called Wicks’ Garage. It’s how I know my name.”

“I don’t remember anyone,” Ollie says. Shitty shrugs.

“Don’t remember any bullshit, either,” he says. “Not many people do. Two of three, there’s a reason that’s so fucking high. We last saw our families when we were what? Four? I doubt they remember us, either.”

They’re quiet again, then Shitty throws his head back and howls  _ again. _ Then Lardo joins in, then Ransom and Holster, and then Johnson. 

“You gotta join in,” Johnson says, “It’s tradition,” then starts howling again. Bitty joins in first, then Wicks, then, at nearly the same time, Ollie.

They all howl for a while, and it feels good to be so loud and stupid and no one will reprimand them.

The moon’s bright, and so’s the fire, and they’re happy.

*

The first time Ollie meets Jack, properly meets Jack, it’s three in the morning, and he’s raiding the fridge. Wicks is asleep on the mattress they share in the living room. There’s a shadow in the doorway, and when he turns around, Jack’s standing there. 

“Hi,” Ollie says. Jack glares at him. His eyes are scary.

“Are there any sugar snaps?” Jack says. He sounds pissed.

“Jacky-boy,” Shitty’s voice says, and he squeezes under Jack’s arm, “Whatcha doin’ up?” His voice is sugar sweet, like he’s talking to a lost kid.

“Wanted some fucking peas, Shitty,” Jack says. “Did we get any with the last delivery?”

“Yeah, think I found some,” Shitty says, “Feeling better?”

Jack shrugs. “Helps being back on the meds.”

“Yeah, well, thank god for Hall and Murray, huh?” Shitty says. “Aha!” He tosses Jack a little bag of snap peas. “There you go. Oh— fuck— Jack, this is Ollie. Ollie, Jack. Jack, you nearly killed him on his first day. He went in your room and freaked you the fuck out.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack says, like nearly killing someone is something that just happens. “Nice to meet you.” And then he’s gone again.

*

Ollie and Wicks tag along on the next supply run. It’s Lardo and Holster again, and they aren’t really needed, per se, but they want to get away from the stuffy craziness of the Haus.

“Why don’t any of the others go on supply runs?” Wicks asks.

“Johnson’s no use, and he throws off the drop off people because he’s weird as shit. Shitty’s too fucking insane and skinny to be helpful at all. Ransom comes sometimes, but usually he’s Haus sitter because he can get to us if there’s an emergency real fuckin’ fast. Bitty’s so tiny and timid that’s just a terrible idea, and Jack—” She breaks off, shakes her head. “Jack doesn’t do too well outside the Haus.”

“Understatement of the year, right there,” Holster says. “Jack outside the Haus is like a pissed lion loose in a zoo. Someone’s gonna die, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be him.”

“What happened to him?” Ollie asks. Holster shakes his head.

“He and Shitty had a third guy who lost it really early on. He and Jack were roomies before here, and were pretty much attached at the hip like you two. When the dude ran off, Jack started declining. He lost it before we even showed up—Shitty gave us the sanitized version of the story on day one.”

“Sometimes he seems normal, you know,” Lardo says, toying with a bramble still knotted in her hair. She’s getting it lopped off as soon as someone locates the scissors. “Like you could hold a conversation with him, but those moments are getting fewer and farther between every month. He’s not gonna be able to hold on for much longer. Jesus, I need a haircut.”

“Sorry, Lards,” Holster says. Lardo shrugs.

“I’ll survive without my luscious locks,” she says.

They walk on in silence for a moment.

“The drop point’s half a mile from here,” Lardo says, “If we got lucky, it’s Hall and Murray again. Maybe George, but she doesn’t come up here very often.”

“And if we’re unlucky?” Ollie asks.

“This asshole named Harden,” Holster says. “Dickwad never gets us what we need.”

“We got Bitty for that, now,” Lardo says, elbowing him in the ribs. “Just grin and play nice, loser.”

“Or what,” Holster says, “What the hell are they going to do to a bunch of scrawny teenagers?”

“Whatever happened to Johnson’s second,” Lardo says. “He won’t tell anyone about it. It can’t be fucking good.”

“Johnson’s second?” Ollie asks.

“Yeah,” Lardo says. “His third got carted off to be of governmental use real fucking quick, and his second… Well, we really have no fucking clue. Johnson won’t say, and all the boys from his first year are dead or living somewhere in these woods.”

“Why don’t you go find them?” Wicks asks. Holster snorts.

“If you’re living in these fucking woods, then you’re not human anymore,” Holster says. “Like Jack, but worse.”

“Jack’s not holding on much longer,” Lardo says. “We can all see it, ‘cept Shitty. Still thinks Jack can be saved.”

“I think Shitty thinks if Jack’s gone, he’s gonna be gone soon too,” Holster says. “A year in this shithole, your sanity starts to go. I can feel myself slipping already. If you manage to make it four years, you know it’s nearly the end. Shitty’s been here two, going into his third.”

“No one wants to lose it,” Lardo says, “It’s the worst feeling, knowing eventually you’re going to forget yourself and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

She stops, looks around. “See anything, Holtzy?”

“Nah, I think he’s moved on,” Holster says, but he looks tense. “You know, we should get Bitty to get us some tranq darts or some shit.”

Lardo snaps her fingers. “Good plan. Let’s go.”

They head on.

*

“Brought some helpers, huh,” a man with a cigarette says when they get to the drop spot. “They’re the new kids, right? Did they lose the third already?”

“Nah, Hall,” Holster says, grinning. “They’re just sick of the Haus.”

“I would be too,” Hall says. “Sorry Murray ain’t here, he’s got the flu or something. I brought all the stuff you mentioned last time. Food and meds and a lot of candy shit. Coats and clothes. Saw your hair, Lards, and threw in some hairdressing stuff. It’s a big haul.”

“You didn’t put yourself out for this, did you?” Lardo says. It’s obviously more than what they’re used to.

“I used the cash they give me to do this,” Hall says, shaking his head. “It’s stupid that I get paid to make sure you kids don’t die, figured I could put it to something good.” He takes a drag. “What’re your names?” He motions to Ollie and Wicks.

“Ollie.”

“Wicks.”

Hall nods. “You both remember a little of the outside, then.” They nod. “Shitty’s great and all, but he can’t name for crap. I can tell when he has to name one of the newbies.” He checks his watch. “I gotta head. The gate closes in a half hour.” He turns to leave, then turns back around. “Hey, kids,” he says, “I got you a satellite. It’s got me, Murray, and George programmed into it. If there’s ever a serious emergency, call one of us.”

“What counts as serious?” Lardo asks.

“If someone is dying,” Hall says. “Anything less than that, no way. Even if Jack finally goes fully feral.”

“Yeah,” Lardo says. “I won’t tell Shitty about it.”

“Poor kid,” Hall says, “I sometimes think y’all are all that’s keeping him from following Jack off the deep end. Other times, I can’t help but think once Jack goes, so will he.”

Lardo nods. “Well, thanks for the shit,” she says. Hall nods, and walks off into the woods. Once he’s out of sight, she collapses and starts bawling.

“He can’t go,” Lardo says. Holster sits down next to her, patting her back.

“I know,” Holster says, and he’s so much quieter than usual. “I know, Lards.”

“If he goes, who’s going to be him? If he goes, we’re going right after him. Then they—” She motions with her head at Ollie and Wicks. “Are gonna go, and where does that leave us?”

“Don’t think about it,” Holster says. “Let’s just get back to the Haus.”

He stands up, then pulls Lardo up with him.

“Sorry,” she says to Ollie and Wicks, “It’s been a rough week.”

“We get it,” Ollie says.

“You, don’t, really, not yet,” Lardo says. “It takes a month or two living with Jack for the reality of this to set in. To realize, one day, anyone you let in is gonna die or try to kill you.”

Ollie looks at his shoes. Wicks takes his hand.

“Let’s go home,” Lardo says, and turns away, the bags floating around her.


	2. movement one

The first thing Bitty made appear was their shitty living room mattress. The next were clean sheets for everyone, and then some new pillows and blankets. And then he started baking.

He still doesn’t talk much, seems afraid of everyone, although Ollie caught him combing and braiding Shitty’s rat nest of hair once, but in the kitchen, he comes to life. He’s baking and smiling, and happy. Some days, he even starts humming.

Hall and Murray had also gotten them some seeds, so they could have some fresh produce more often, and if he didn’t know any better, Ollie would think Bitty’s power was a green thumb of some sort.

“How are you so good at this?” Ollie asks once, sitting in the big tree out back while Bitty tends to his plants. Bitty shrugs. He answers most questions with shrugs.

His pies are wonderful.

“My momma taught me to make a pie when I was still in diapers,” he says one night, and then doesn’t say anything else for three hours, until when Jack, apparently intrigued by the smell, appears in ratty pajama bottoms and nothing else.

“Do you want pie?” he asks. Everyone stiffens. No one talks to Jack except Shitty. No one can talk to Jack without getting some animal noise made at them except Shitty.

“Sure,” Jack says. Bitty gives him a quarter of the pie, then Jack retreats back to his lair.

“Ok,” Shitty says when Jack’s back up the stairs, “What the actual hell was that?”

“He helps me garden at night, sometimes,” Bitty says.

“You go outside at  _ night? _ ” Lardo says at the same time Shitty says, “ _ Jack  _ goes  _ outside? _ ”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Bitty asks.

“No,” Shitty says, and gives him one of his ‘I’m Shitty and I’m fucking insane’ grins. “That’s fantastic news.” And then he starts howling.

From the mattress, Ollie can see Lardo shaking her head. “He might just be in the middle of a good spell,” she says. Ollie cards his fingers through Wicks’ hair. They’re laying there together, Wicks’ head on Ollie’s stomach.

“Or he could be getting better,” Shitty says, taking a break from howling.

“Shits,” Lardo says, and it’s beyond tender.

“Fuck off, Lardo,” Shitty says, “You don’t get it.” He heads upstairs.

“Shit,” Lardo says, standing and following him, “Fucking shit.”

*

Two months after they arrive, they’re sitting in a tree by the Haus.

“It’s weird,” Wicks says, “I miss the other place so much, but I also never wanna go back.”

“I get that,” Ollie says.

“Maybe it’s the normalcy we had there,” Wicks says, “I mean, it was weird, in its own way, but everything makes sense. Nothing makes sense here.”

“Yeah,” Ollie says. He turns and looks at Wicks. He’s beautiful.

Ollie kisses him. It’s like fireworks.

“I like that,” Wicks says, when they pull away. He rests his forehead on Ollie’s. “I’ve been in love with you for forever, you know that?”

“So have I,” Ollie says, “Thought you couldn’t ever like me.”

“You’re wrong,” Wicks says. “So fucking wrong.”

*

By the beginning of fall, Bitty’s beginning to come out of his shell. He talks more, especially with Shitty. He’s happy to sit around and watch TV and throw in his own quips on occasion.

Jack’s still Jack, even though Ollie catches Shitty throwing glances his way, hope filled glances.

“He refuses to accept the inevitable,” Johnson says, monotone, from his nest under the stairs once. “He’s a dreamer.”

“You’re not?” Wicks says.

Johnson laughs. “I’m a psychic.”

Ollie and Wicks steal moments for themselves. Back in the compound, there were boys who got caught kissing, and they usually ended up stuffed in lockers, so they try to hide it the best they can.

“I wish we could go home,” Ollie says one night when he thinks Wicks is asleep, because he’s supposed to be the strong one, the one who makes the best of this bullshit.

“Me too,” Wicks says, the sound muffled. He’s got his head buried in Ollie’s shirt. “You know, you don’t have to be all happy about this all the time. You’re allowed to have feelings, Ollie.”

“I just wish I could see them,” he says, “I don’t really remember them.”

“Your parents?”

“Yeah.”

Wicks leans back. “You know, as much as I wanted to go home I- I was secretly hoping we’d both get chosen.”

“Why?” Ollie whispers.

“Because I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember,” Wicks says, “And I figured, if we both go home, we’re never going to see each other ever again, and I’d never have a shot. I thought if we were together, no matter where the hell we were, everything would be okay. And, I guess, that’s partially true.”

“And the other part?”

“I’m a little worried about the losing my shit and having to live alone in the woods part,” Wicks says. He’s crying a little. Ollie leans in and kisses him.

“Hey,” he says when he pulls away, “For the record, I’m terrified of that, too.”

*

They go on more supply runs. Sometimes Ransom comes. Mostly, he stays.

“Bitty’s tiny,” Ransoms says when Ollie asks him once, “Jack may seem fine right now, but he can switch to nuts at the snap of a finger.” 

That’s all he needs to say.

*

One morning, something slams into their front door.

“Bitty, Ollie, Wicks, go upstairs and lock Jack’s door. The key’s outside,” Ransom says. He’s deadly serious. “Then take the key and lock yourselves in Shitty’s room. It’s the one down the hall, not across from Jack.” They stand there. “Go,” Ransom says, “Now.”

They scramble. Wicks locks Jack in his room, then they dunk into the other room, lock the door from the inside. Bitty stuffs the key in his jeans pocket, then proceeds to curl up in the chair under the bed and shake.

“Bitty,” Wicks says, “Bitty, you’re gonna be fine. It’s all under control.” Bitty’s breathing starts to quicken. “Bitty-”

The other door slams open. Bitty squeaks.

Jack’s standing there.

“Bits,” Jack says. Wicks scoots towards Ollie. Jack walks towards Bitty. “Hey, Bits, you’re fine.”

“Something’s outside,” Bitty says, “There’s something outside, Jack.”

“And they’re handling it,” Jack says. Ollie looks at Wicks, incredulous. “Bitty, they’re handling it. Breathe.”

Bitty takes a deep breath. Jack grins at him, and pats him on the knee. Bitty gives him a shaky smile.

“Hey,” Jack says to Ollie and Wicks. He’s gruff again. “I don’t know your names.”

“Ollie,” Ollie says, even though they’ve met.

“Wicks,” Wicks says.

“You together?” Jack asks.

“No,” Ollie says, from instinct alone.

“You’re holding hands,” Jack says. Their hands drop to their sides. “You know, no one here cares.”

“Maybe we are, maybe we aren’t,” Wicks says. Jack shrugs.

“Has this happened before?” Bitty says, knees tucked to his chest. The panic seeping into his voice is freaking Ollie out, just a little.

“Yes,” Jack says, “I got out the first time. It was- It was bad.”

“So they lock you in,” Bitty says.

“So they lock me in,” Jack says, nodding. “Usually, Johnson comes up here with me, and just sits and, you know, what you’re doing now. Sometimes, he has to lock me in the bathroom. Had to every time this happened for a while.”

“But you’re doing better,” Bitty says.

Jack hums. “Can you make a pie after this?”

“What kind?” Bitty says.

“Apple,” Jack says. Bitty lays his head against the armrest of the chair. “Are you done with talking?”

Bitty nods. Jack turns to Ollie and Wicks, and starts to say something, but is interrupted by someone knocking at the door.

“We’re all clear,” Shitty says. Bitty looks up, and gets to his feet. Jack hovers awkwardly behind him. Bitty opens the door. Shitty looks slightly the worse for wear, a nasty cut on his cheek, but seems otherwise mostly in good spirits. “Hey, Jack.”

“Hey, Shitty,” Jack says, then stalks back to his room.

“Glad to see you’re still with us,” Shitty says to the remaining three, and they go downstairs.

Later, Lardo whispers, “Lock the fucking bathroom next time,” in Ollie’s ear.

*

They still sleep in the living room. Some nights, it’s too hot to sleep curled up with each other; other nights, it’s the only way they can go to sleep at all.

Wicks gets up first, Ollie goes to sleep last. Wicks helps Bitty make breakfast most mornings, even though getting two words out of Bitty in the morning is like waking the dead. It’s a symphony, one full of crashing pans and Wicks’s indistinct chatter to absolutely nothing.

One of the most eerie parts about the entire forest is that there are never birds singing. Once, Ollie couldn’t sleep and was awake before anyone else in the Haus and couldn’t hear a single bird.

He mentions this to Wicks.

“Huh, weird,” Wicks says, “Maybe we should ask Shitty?”

“No fuckin’ clue,” Shitty says when they ask later that day. “Wanna get stoned?”

It’s the first time either of them have ever had weed. They go sit on this little overhang over the porch (“The Reading Room,” Shitty says), and they pass a blunt around.

“Smokin’ without me,” Lardo says, popping her head out the window, when they’re starting to get high. It feels good. She climbs out the window and sits down next to Ollie. “Pass it to me.”

They watch the sun for a while, then Wicks says, “Wonder what we’d be doing if we got out.”

“Bet we’d all play fucking football or some shit,” Shitty says, “That’s all they do in those stupid-ass coming of age stories.”

“I think I’d be an artist,” Lardo says, and she sounds smaller than she usually does. When Ollie looks over at her, she’s hovering right above the roof. She tilts backwards, almost imperceptibly, then rights herself. “I think I’d like that.”

“I don’t know what I would be,” Wicks says, “Maybe I’d work at my dad’s stupid garage. Maybe I’d have never met any of you.”

“Johnson says fate has funny ways of bringing you together, the nut job,” Shitty says.

“I think it’s nice to know we might have met anyways,” Ollie says, “even without this stupid fucking place to bring us together.” He kicks a rock off the roof.

“I sometimes think this is where I’m meant to be,” Lardo says, “like I’m not good enough for anything else. Like I won’t ever be more than a feral kid in the woods.”

“Fuck, Lardo, you’re so much more than that,” Shitty says. The sun dips behind the trees. “Lardo, stop being an asshat to yourself. You keep us together, you know that?”

“Nah, that’s you, Shits,” she says, and then she crumples into a little ball in midair. Shitty reaches over and pats her on the back. She looks up and gives him a watery grin.

Wicks reaches over and squeezes Ollie’s hand. Ollie squeezes back. It’s a question.

Wicks looks him in the eyes, and slowly shakes his head no.

*

At what they think is the end of September, Ollie and Wicks stay behind during a supply run because they’re kissing behind the boiler and miss Lardo and Holster leaving. They go upstairs, are informed of their departure by Johnson, and decide they want to watch one of the unmarked DVDs in their growing collection again.

They finish the movie.

They go outside to help Bitty and Shitty with the garden.

They go inside and watch another stupid action movie.

Bitty starts a pie.

Bitty finishes a pie.

“Hey, Rans,” Shitty says, when the sun starts to go down, “It’s taking them a while.”

Ransom nods from his place by the door. Ever since the scare, he’s taken to standing guard even more than usual, which is saying something. He was nearly one with the door at this point.

“Wish they’d get back already,” Ransom says. Bitty bangs around the kitchen a little bit louder.

Ollie and Wicks go sit in the Reading Room and watch the sun go down.

By nine, they’re getting ready to go send out a search party, when someone bangs on the door, frantic.

Holster stumbles through the door. He’s got a nasty gash in his side, and either the haul for the day was small, or some of it’s gone.

“Shut it, shut it,” he mumbles, dropping the bags. He’s clutching his side. “Shut the goddamn door!”

“Where’s Lardo?” Shitty says. Ollie and Wicks watch, frozen. Holster’s slumped against the wall. Ransom’s checking out the gash. “Holster, where’s Lardo? Holster, where the fuck is Lardo?”

“He got us,” Holster says, gritting his teeth, “He fought me, took her. Lardo’s gone.”

Shitty crumples, then lets out the worst sound Ollie’s ever heard in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry
> 
> Anyways, thanks to the entirety of omgsp because you guys rock and are some of the best people to bounce ideas off of and get feedback from. Thank all of you for reading, and if you enjoyed, I'd love to hear about it in the comments. Thank you again, and have a good day (or night)! - Cole


	3. movement one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for most of what is mentioned in the tags

The week after Lardo goes missing is miserable. Shitty switches between running around in the woods outside and laying in his bed upstairs, silently crying. No one can get him to say more than profanity filled warnings to get out of his room and _shut the_ _fucking door this time_. 

Jack stops coming out of his room.

Every morning, Bitty leaves a plate of food and two blankets outside his door. Jack takes the blankets, but leaves the food.

“Why are you leaving blankets?” Ollie asks one morning.

“He’s shredding them,” Bitty says, softer than anything that’s ever come out of his mouth. Bitty doesn’t talk for days after that.

He’s still tending to his garden, but he does it more like it’s a chore than anything else now. He bakes nearly constantly. One night, Wicks finds him passed out on the floor of the kitchen.

“I don’t think he’s slept in days,” Wicks says while they look at him. Ollie hauls him into his arms and carries him upstairs to his room, the one across from Jack. There’s a stuffed rabbit on his bed.

“Where’d he get that?” Ollie asks. Wicks shrugged.

“Must have dreamt it up,” Wicks says. They shut the door, and leave him be.

Ransom moved his mattress down from the attic with the help of Holster. He sleeps in front of the door. Some nights, when he’s worked himself into a panic, Ollie or Wicks have to run up to the attic and grab Holster to calm him down.

Holster stops eating.

“He blames himself,” Johnson says, looking up from one of his notebooks, when Ollie mentions it. “It’s a bad time for everyone here.” He hasn’t moved from his strange little nest under the stairs in days. He’s faded into background noise, a psychic without anyone to give advice to. Ollie knows Johnson has to blame himself a little bit.

On day three, Ollie wakes up to crashing from the kitchen. He pops his head over the back of the green couch and goes, “Oh, shit.”

Holster’s smashing plates on the tile.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” Ollie says, tumbling out of bed, “Ransom! Gimme a hand!” Wicks is alert at this point, and moving too, fading away into the woodwork. His powers amaze Ollie, even now.

“Shit,” Ransom says from next to him, shaking Ollie from his reverie. “He’s pissed.”

“Who the hell is he pissed at?” Ollie says, because he’s only been awake for a few minutes.

“Himself,” Ransom says, and then he’s off, trying to catch plates and calm Holster at the same time. Ollie had never seen him in action before, never seen him move like that, quick and sure-footed. It looks like he’s dancing, almost, the way Ransom plays defense and offense, catches plates and moves to get a grasp on Holster, at the same time.

“C’mon dude, I don’t want you to make Bitty appear us all new plates. You know it takes it out of him,” Ransom says, and Holster freezes. “Good, k’mon, buddy.” Holster lowers his hand, and Ransom slowly takes the plate. “You got it all out?” He grabs Holster’s hand, and slowly, slowly, pulls him out of the kitchen. “That wasn’t okay, dude.”

And then Holster’s collapsing, taking Ransom down with him, sobbing. It’s painful. He’s taking heavy, heaving breaths, and is wrapped around Ransom like he’s his lifeline.

It’s terrible, especially when Ransom falls apart too, dropping his head and joining Holster’s frantic sobbing, because they’re the strong ones. The ones who have the most of themselves left, the ones who protect them and have kept them safe. They’re the ones who take the most dangerous jobs and sleep by the door so no one can get in without a fight and bandage everyone’s wounds. They’re the ones who keep them going, and here they are, crumbling on the living room floor.

Holster’s fingers dig into Ransom’s back, like he thinks that he’ll disappear too if he doesn’t hold onto him, and Ransom does nothing to stop him, because he’s doing the same to Holster’s neck. They just clutch at each other and sob and sob. Holster’s basically in Ransom’s lap, clinging to him like he’s a life preserver.

It’s the gravity of it all, Ollie thinks, it’s the moment Lardo was talking about, when you realize everyone here either goes crazy or—

Ollie falls to his knees. Lardo’s going to die, he realizes. That’s why everyone is torn to shreds over this, it’s because, wherever she’s been taken, she isn’t coming back alive. An arm materializes around him, and Ollie drops his head onto Wick’s shoulder, pulling him closer, tighter, because he needs something real, something constant right now.

“I don’t think she’s coming back,” Ollie says, and it’s a terrifying admission, hard to push off his chest, “I think they know it.” And then he’s crying, too, and so is Wicks, and, eventually, all four of them are crying together, because they know, in that moment, they’re never getting Lardo back.

*

The sun rises, and the sun sets, but life doesn’t really continue. A week in, Bitty stops getting up. Holster and Ransom have to tag team force feeding Jack and Shitty. Ollie and Wicks try to help where they can, weeding and watering the garden, but it’s hard to get up some mornings.

Fall approaches.

It’s time for a supply run.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving them alone,” Holster says, when Ransom asks if he wants to come with them. “I- I don’t know if I can do it.”

At the last two supply runs, the person dropping off their shit had been the “asshole named Harden,” who hadn’t given them anything good, and, with the garden already beginning to die, they’re hoping for some good stuff.

“Coats? Flashlights?” Ransom asks before they leave. Ollie and Wicks both give thumbs ups. “I haven’t been on one of these runs since, well, seems like forever, and I usually let Holtzy or Lards do the talking. Hopefully I won’t fuck this up too bad.”

“Hopefully it’s not Harden again,” Wicks says as they step out of the Haus. Ransom nods and pats his pocket, where a tranq gun sits, thanks to Bitty.

“Hey, Bits,” Ransom had said a day before they had to leave. Bitty was laying in bed, facing the wall. “Is there any chance you could get us a tranq gun?”

Two minutes later, he’d held up a gun and a pack of tranquilizers, and that was that.

They walk in silence for a while, listening to the forest, trying to tell if something was out there, waiting to get them like it had gotten Lardo, until Ransom says, “I’m worried about them.”

“Yeah,” Ollie says. “I don’t know what to do. Everyone’s destroyed, you know.”

“I don’t know what to do, either,” Ransom says, and he sounds so, so small, “I wanted to be a doctor, you know. Before. When we were still in that fucking warehouse. I thought I was going to get out and go  _ be  _ someone, and I’d decided I wanted to be a doctor. And then this happened and well-” He motions around. “That went down the fucking drain.” He stuffs his hands back in his pockets. “It makes me so fucking mad sometimes. That we have to live like this. That we don’t have any chance at a life. That we get killed by these woods, all because the government thinks we’re too dangerous to be out in public. It’s not like we’re gonna kill someone, either, it’s because we’re a threat to them. It’s because you could slip into a facility, Wicks, and no one would notice. It’s because you can go through their walls, Ollie. Hell, it’s because Bitty could imagine their top secret files into his hands. It’s because I could run past their bullets, or Holster could break a tank. It’s all  _ bullshit. _ And it’s killed Lardo.” He grimaces at that last part, and says, “You knew she’s going to die, right?” Ollie and Wicks nod. “Good, I mean, you’re not stupid, but I’ve been here for a hell of a lot longer than you two, and my idea of normal is kinda warped now.”

They move on in silence for a moment, then Ransom blurts out, “You know humanity’s only a minute on the cosmic calendar?”

“No,” Ollie says.

“We are,” Ransom says, “I don’t know how I know that, but I do. Humanity’s nothing, really.”

Ollie nods, studies the trees.

Murray and Hall are waiting at the drop point, piles of bags around their feet.

“Holster and Lardo taking a day off?” Hall says as the three boys load the bags onto their arms. Ransom takes a deep breath. “Oh- oh, no.”

“Are they okay?” Murray asks. His eyes are concerned.

“Holster’s fine,” Ransom says, not looking up.

“Lardo?”

Ransom doesn’t say anything.

“Is she gonna make it?” Hall says. Ransom looks up, shuts his eyes, and shakes his head.

“One of the kids in the woods got her,” he says.

“Jesus,” Hall says. “That’s terrible, boys.”

Ransom nods and says, “Well, I guess we’ll be going.” They turn to leave.

“Hey!” Murray calls after them, “are the other boys doing okay?”

“We’re all still alive,” Ransom says, and no one says anything else.

*

They have to make Shitty eat.

Jack’s started taking whatever they put outside his door, even though most of the time it’s placed back outside, not even halfway finished, but Shitty won’t eat anything, won’t even let anyone in his room.

“Shits,” Ransom says one day, knocking on the door, “We brought you food.”

“Not hungry,” comes the muffled reply.

“Shits, you gotta—”

The door slams open.

Shitty looks terrible. His hair’s a disaster, his eyes are red and puffy. He’s wearing a shirt that Ollie is almost certain belonged to Lardo, before, and looks ready to kill someone.

“I gotta do what, Ransom?” Shitty says. “What I gotta do is go get fucking Lardo from those goddamn woods, but I can’t fucking do that because I’ll burn the woods down if I try to use my powers, so I’m useless. You know who isn’t useless? The Superman twins. You know what else? The only goddamn people who could do anything, who could get Lardo back, are you guys. And guess what?”

“Shitty, stop,” Wicks says, because he can see Ransom curling his fist.

“Guess what, asshole,” Shitty says, yelling, now, “I guess you don’t give enough of a shit about your third, your motherfucking third, to try and go get her back. So, fuck you, Ransom, because I don’t have to do anything.”

“Well, if you had gotten your goddamn third in the first place,” Ransom says, hands clenched against his side, “This wouldn’t be happening.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Shitty says, “Just because you don’t give a shit and are getting all defensive-”

Ransom punches him in the face. Shitty screeches, and lunges at him, all teeth and nails. They go down, scuffling in the hallway. Shitty bangs his head against the wall, Ransom clocks his knee on the banister.

“Fuck you, Ransom,” Shitty yells, and then gets a solid punch in. Ransom yells something incoherent, lops a fist at him, although Shitty gets out of the way at the last moment. “You self-centered, asshole of a fake concerned douchebag, you motherfucking dickwad, you-”

A door slams. No one notices.

“Fuck you too, Shitty,” Ransom says, “Fuck you and your hair and your ‘I can’t do anything because I’ll burn down the forest’ and fuck you for saying I dont fucking care because I care too goddamn much and I’m the only one here trying to keep this fucking Haus afloat.”

“You fucking-”   
  


“Shut up!” someone yells, and everything stops, because there’s Bitty, standing in the hallway, looking gaunt and exhausted. “Please, just shut up. You’re both wrong.”

“Bits,” Ransom says, “C’mon Bits, we weren’t-”

“I know,” Bitty says, trembling, “I know it’s hard for you. I really get it, because it’s hard for me, too. But you can’t fight. Shitty, you know why Ransom can’t go save her. And Ransom, you know why Shitty’s hurting. But you can’t fight, or- or-”

Bitty drops, curling in on himself and sobbing. “I don’t want everyone to hate each other now,” he says, and everyone runs to go comfort him, to hug him and pull him close and tell him it’ll all be fine. “No,” he says, firmly, “I need a moment. Just go away, please.”

And they do.

As they go downstairs, they hear Jack’s door opening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (brief violence involving holster systematically smashing plates)
> 
> hey, there. thank you for reading. if there was any way i can tag triggers or if there is anything i missed that would work better, please tell me. thank you all for reading, thank you sola for beta-ing, and thank you omgsp for being so amazingly supportive. thank you so much, and if you are enjoying, i'd love to hear about it!
> 
> till next time, Cole (if you are looking for me on tumblr, I am located at tapdancinglorax)


	4. movement one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings are at the bottom.

One morning, a few weeks after the disaster that was Ransom and Shitty fighting, Ollie and Wicks wake up and the leaves on the trees have all turned orange.

“What the hell?” Wicks says, “They didn’t look like that yesterday.”

“Weird woods,” Johnson says. “Nothing’s normal here, you know. They wouldn’t waste a perfectly good wood on some feral kids.”

“Oh,” Wicks says, “Makes sense.”

They watch whatever movie is closest to them until Ransom wakes up, and then they all go and make breakfast together, Bisquick pancakes with syrup and the little bit of bacon they have left in the fridge. They eat on the couch, talking with Johnson and Holster. They take three plates up to Jack, Shitty, and Bitty.

“Good morning, food delivery,” Ollie calls when they go upstairs. Ransom’s been temporarily taken off food duty, and no one wants to even think about trying to switch Holster in. “Food’s outside your doors, if you want to eat.”

Bitty opens his door as they’re heading downstairs and says, “Do y’all wanna come eat with me?” He seems subdued.

“Sure,” Ollie says, and Wicks shrugs his agreement.

They all go in Bitty’s room. Jack’s curled up in a little ball on his bed, and Bitty motions to leave him alone before climbing through the open window.

“I like to sit out here when I eat,” Bitty says when they’re all seated in the Reading Room. “Sometimes Jack comes and sits out here with me, but mostly I eat by myself. It’s peaceful.”

“Dude,” Ollie says after a few moments of stunned silence, “You’re talking.”

Bitty hums noncommittally. “I’m working on it. Jack’s helping me.”

“It’s just really cool to hear your voice, you know,” Wicks says, “It’s like, you know, we’re from the same group and I want to be friends. Not that we weren’t before, but now we can talk about shit and that’s cool.”

“I know,” Bitty says, and takes a bite of a pancake. “This is Bisquick, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Ollie admits, “Sorry, dude. Not all of us are five star chefs.”

“Everything tastes a little like cardboard right now, so I shouldn’t even be able to tell,” Bitty says. “It’s just- Bisquick, you know?”

“I know,” Wicks says, even though he doesn’t. Bitty nods.

“Jack says I’m depressed,” Bitty says, after a moment, “Shitty said I have PTSD, back when we first got here. I don’t know how they know that, but I guess it makes sense.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Ollie asks, because it feels right.

“Not really,” Bitty says, and goes back to his food.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“What was the academy like for you?” Bitty blurts out, picking at his pancakes.

“It sucked,” Ollie says. “But I had Wicks, so I guess it could have sucked a lot more.”

“I hated that place,” Bitty says, setting his plate aside and pulling his knees to his chest. “I hated it so much. I’m small, you know, and I- I sound gay. I’ve never been able to hide it very well. So all those boys, they stuffed me in lockers. Told me they’d tattle about me bein’ this way if I didn’t summon up whatever they wanted. And-” He’s crying now. “And I did, and if it wasn’t perfect they’d beat me up and leave me bloodied in the showers.”

“Bitty-” Ollie says.

“I hated it so much, and I was so glad when I found out it was you two coming with me, because even if I’m the only one in this world who’s messed up like this, at least you two never tried to hurt me. And now we’re stuck here, and everything’s terrible, and sometimes I wish I was back there, and I hate myself for it.” Bitty pulls his knees closer to his chest and looks at the sun. “I hate myself so much. Because it was hell, there, and here I am, wishing I could go back.”

“Bitty,” Wicks says, “You’re not messed up.”

Bitty snorts. “You don’t have to coddle me. I know what they did with the boys who weren’t right, you know. That’s why I tried so hard to hide it.”

Ollie’s blood goes cold. “What did they do?”

“I don’t really know the details,” Bitty said, “But they carted my roommate off sometime after he turned fifteen, I think, and when he came back he didn’t know his name.”

“Oh, god,” Wicks says. “Did they really?”

“I don’t get it,” Bitty says, voice rising, “I don’t understand. Because you two don’t care, and even if I’m fucked up, I’m stuck in these woods, so what does it even matter? It doesn’t even matter.”

“Bitty,” Ollie says. “You’re not messed up.

“I’m the only one, other than my roommate, and it’s not like he was really much of a person after that,” Bitty says. “I’m just this stupid little gay boy with the best power imaginable when you’re stuck in a government base where nothing gets in and nothing gets out, and I get it. I’m messed up, Ollie.”

“Bitty,” Wicks says, “We’re like you.”

Bitty shakes his head. “No way.”

“We are,” Wicks says, “We’ve just been hiding it because-”

“Because of them,” Bitty says, understanding flooding his face,“You get it.”

“We get it,” Ollie agrees, and Bitty starts crying, dropping his head into his arms, but he’s crying tears of relief.

“I’m not messed up,” Bitty says. “We’re not messed up.”   
  


“No,” Ollie says, “We’re not.”

They all cry for a while, alone in the Reading Room, and for the first time in a while, everything feels okay.

*

Their garden has died, at this point, and they’re relying on supply runs for fresh food. Instead of going every other week, like they did before, they go every week now. They’re slowly getting new wardrobes from Hall and Murray, even though the clothes are a little too big for Bitty and a little too small for Ransom and Holster.

“What happened to George?” Ransom asks at the drop point once. Hall and Murray tense up. “It’s just you two and Harden, these days.”

“George said some things that she shouldn’t have,” Hall says, passing Ollie a bag of flannels. “She got fired, Ransom.”

“Oh,” Ransom says. “What did she say?”

“Classified,” Murray says. “Any requests for next week?”

“A shit ton of butter,” Ransom says. “A shit ton of matches. More of those hand warmer things.”

“Thanks,” Murray says, typing it into his phone. “We’ll get you that.”

*

No one will say Lardo’s name anymore.

*

The day after the snowfall of the year, they have to go on a supply run. Ransom passes them thick coats and waterproof pants, tall boots and hats.

“We wear layers,” Ransom says. “We have a box of personal hand warmers left- put one in each shoe and one in each pocket. Scarfs go over your nose.”

“Okay,” Ollie says. “Got it, Rans.”

Ransom sighs. “I haven’t been on a snow run in a year.”

“Did you miss it?” Wicks asks as he shakes his hand warmers.

“No,” Ransom says. “I really didn’t. I wish, yaknow,  _ it  _ didn’t happen.”

“We all do,” Ollie says, “We all do.”

“Well,” Ransom says, “Let’s go.”

*

“Do you guys usually do something for Christmas?” Ollie asks as they traipse through the snow.

“We drag in a tree,” Ransom says, “Although she usually brought it down for us. I don’t know what we’ll do this year. Shitty’s usually head of that, and he’s a little messed up right now.”

“Tree’s more than we did at the compound,” Wicks says. “At the compound we got half a brownie each and they called it our ‘Christmas present’ and laughed.”

“I remember that,” Ransom says. “Then it- We had to do the person on person assessments that night, right?”

Wicks nods, shrinks into himself a little.

“They always made me fight Holster,” Ransom says. “I feel bad about it now.”

“They made me fight Bitty, usually,” Wicks says, shrinking just a little more. “I hated it.”

*

“Hall and Murray told me to give you this shit,” Harden says when they get to the drop point. He’s leaning against a tree, smoking. “Buncha hand warmers and butter. Hey, the girl and the blonde dude aren’t here. Wolves got them?”

“No,” Ransom says. “Holster’s back at the house.”

“Too bad,” Harden says. “Still gotta feed all you fucks, then. Got you some veggies and shit. Mostly canned, although they make me feed you lot a buncha fresh shit too. There’s some meat in there. Some blankets and all that bullshit.”

“Thanks,” Ransom says, passing bags to Ollie and Wicks. “How’s it holding up out there.”

“You know I can’t tell you any of that fuckery,” Harden says. “Goddamn, you kids get under my skin. You got all the damn bags?”

“Yeah,” Ransom says. “We’ve got the stuff.”

*

“It was Harden, this week. Hall and Murray got him to bring the stuff we asked for, though,” Ransom says, back at the Haus. There’s a fire going, and everyone but Jack’s huddled around it. “Good to see you, Shits.” It’s stiff and a little too formal.

Shitty shrugs. He’s wearing a sweater that’s too small for him, and his hair’s up in a greasy bun. Bitty’s tucked into Holster’s side, shivering. He’s wrapped in a few blankets, and his hair looks wet.

“Bitty went for a dip,” Holster says. “He fell off the Reading Room. Luckily, there was a snow bank but he passed out. Shock, maybe. I went to check on him upstairs, and found him before it got too bad. Otherwise…”

“He’d probably have frozen,” Ransom says. “I’m going to check you out, Bitty, later. How’s Jack?”

“He freaked out when he realized he slept through it,” Holster says. “He’s been in his room all day.”

“Did you get my butter?” Bitty says, slowly and sleepily.

“Yeah,” Ollie says, holding up a bag. “Hall and Murray set us up.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I know why Harden doesn’t get us any bullshit,” Holster says, “I think he keeps the stipend and buys shit for himself.”

“Probably,” Ransom says, like he’s not really listening, while moving towards Bitty. “Do we have a thermometer?”

“I can get one,” Bitty says, and closes his eyes. He pokes a hand through his blankets, holding a thermometer, a moment later. “That makes me tired right now. I can’t get anything big.”

“That’s fine, Bitty,” Ransom says. “Hey, you got one of the fancy forehead ones. Nice.” He places the thermometer on Bitty’s forehead. It beeps. “84. Holy shit, Bits.”

“I nearly ran him a bath,” Holster says. “Would that have been better?”

“No,” Ransom says, “He’s really fucking cold, even now. That might have made his heart stop.”

“So what do we do now?” Shitty says. His voice is shaky. “I can’t- I won’t let another one of them die. I won’t-”

“Bitty’s not going to die.”

“But you said his temperature is 84 fucking degrees, Ransom,” Shitty says. “How the hell-”

“Well, we can’t take him to a goddamn hospital, can we?” Ransom snaps. “That would be best, I’ve read like three first aid books because George thought it would have some good info for me in them, I don’t know shit. But, I think we need to monitor his temperature and slowly warm him up. Give him hot fluids-”

“I’ll get him-”

“No, you’re heating him up-”

“I’ll get him something, Holtz,” Shitty says, and stands up. “Tea, or hot water, Ransom?”

“Kinda warm water, for now,” Ransom says. “I’ll- Ollie, Wicks, wanna go put this stuff away?”

“Yeah,” Ollie says. “That sounds good.”

They head down to the basement after dropping the fresh stuff upstairs.

“Jesus,” Wicks says as they’re shelving canned goods. “Is Bitty gonna be okay?”

“I hope so,” Ransom says, “The only other person that’s ever happened to is Jack, I think, right after his third ran off, but there was a guy actually trained in first aid there, then, because they still kinda gave a shit for a while. Jack was fine, in the end, but Bitty’s so  _ small.  _ Hypothermia’s serious, and I wasn’t even here to help with it and-”

He’s shrinking, sliding towards the floor.

“Rans, stop,” Ollie says, crouching next to him. “Bitty’s going to be fine. He’s awake and talking, right?”

“He’s not good, though,” Ransom says, “And none of us are healthy to start with, which makes it worse, and-”

“Hey, Ransy,” Shitty says from behind him. “He’s going to be okay. When Holster brought him in, he was as stiff as a board. I thought he was dead. We couldn’t find his pulse for a minute, and we really thought that was it. Jack went ballistic, and while I was trying to talk him down, Holster found Bitty’s pulse. We flipped through your book real fast, tried to figure out the best course of action, didn’t put him in a bath, and he woke up about an hour ago. He’s going to be fine.”

Ransom takes a couple of shaky breaths. “Thanks.”

“Holster said you would probably do this, sent me down after you,” Shitty says, crossing his arms. “Hey, I just- I wanted to apologize for what I said. It was a dickish thing to say, that you don’t care.”

“Thanks,” Ransom says, standing up, “I know what I said was wrong, too.”

Shitty nods, then grins. “Bring it in, buddy.”

Ransom gives him a hug, and says, after a moment, “C’mon, Ollie, Wicks.” They join in, and they stay there for a moment, four boys hugging in a freezing basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for homophobia, description of hypothermia, and one scene where a character is described to have stolen money from children
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I appreciate every single one of you and every comment and kudos I get. This is a work I'm very passionate about (something that hasn't happened in a long time) and I'm so glad that others get to experience it with me. Thank you to Sola for beta-ing for me (you are wonderful) and everyone in omgsp for just being nifty.
> 
> Till next time, Cole.


	5. movement one

Ollie and Wicks have to sleep upstairs for a few days, on Bitty’s twin mattress next to the drafty windows. They can hear Jack on the prowl at night, going downstairs and returning within two minutes time and time again.

“I think he’s checking on Bitty,” Wicks mumbles into Ollie’s neck one night.

“That’s really nice and all,” Ollie says, “But I want a full night’s sleep for once.”

They’re always the first ones up, and when they go downstairs to make breakfast, there are Holster and Ransom on one side of Bitty, and Shitty on the other, all squashed onto the mattress. One morning, they come down and Jack’s perched on the arm of the couch, watching them.

“Hey, Jack,” Wicks says. Jack nods.

*

They go to get a tree. 

“We don’t have to, Shitty,” Ollie hears Holster say to Shitty one night. They’re standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“I want to give Bitty something,” Shitty says, “Something good.” He sounds desperate, like he’s dehydrated in the middle of a desert and someone’s dangling a bottle of water over his head.

“Okay,” Holster says. “Okay.”

Later, when they’re on a supply run, Holster, who’s there because Ransom won’t leave Bitty alone for long anymore, looks at them and says, “Shitty’s not gonna last much longer.”

Ollie’s blood runs cold. “What do you mean?”

“You see what he’s doing with Bitty,” Holster says. “He’s trying to replace her. He was the one who managed to get her to be a person again, you know. She wouldn’t look at anyone, wouldn’t let anyone touch her. We all thought she was going to be like Jack, you know, and then one day we found her curled up with Shitty on the couch and he looked at us and said, ‘She’s going to get better,’ and she did. He’s trying to do that to Bitty. He’s trying to pull him out into the world, but his sanity’s been slipping for months. We’ve all seen it. And now he’s slipping faster. She was his tether to this world. He’s going to try to latch onto Bitty, try and patch up his wounds, but Jack’s already done that.”

“So that’s it?” Wicks asks. “He’s done?”

“He’s got nine months, tops,” Holster says, and then he’s quiet for a moment. “I was kinda hoping the next batch would get to meet him, but I don’t think he’ll make it that long.”

Their boots crunch in the snow.

“Sorry,” Holster says, “I shouldn’t pile my shit on you.”

“It’s okay,” Ollie says, “We’ve got you.”

They walk on in silence.

*

When they go to find a tree, Holster brings an axe and the traq gun. Shitty goes with them, significantly underdressed for the middle of winter.

“I’m always really fuckin’ hot,” he explains as they walk. “It’s a fucking curse.”

“It’s just your powers,” Holster says. He sounds tired.   
  


They find a tree. Holster cuts it down, then they drag it back to the Haus. Johnson talks to himself the entire time. No one else says anything. The snow’s beautiful, but it’s terrible. Holster’s watching Shitty, Shitty’s watching Johnson, Johnson’s watching the sky, and Ollie gets the feeling that they might fall apart at any moment.

*

The tree sits in the corner of the living room for a week.

One morning, someone knocks on Bitty’s door. Ollie opens it, because Wicks is still passed out, curled against the wall. Bitty’s standing there, wrapped in a blanket.

“Hey,” Ollie says, sleepy. The sun isn’t even up. “What’s up?”

“I want to do something to that tree,” Bitty says. “It’s just sitting there, and every time I look at it it makes me… Angry or something. I don’t know. I just don’t like it.”

“Ok,” Ollie says, “Let’s decorate the tree.”

No one else is awake. Johnson’s vacated his nest. They’re alone downstairs.

They string popcorn onto thread, loop it around the tree. Bitty summons baubles from nowhere, and when they go to put something on top of the tree, there’s a raggedy old angel in his hands. He turns it over, once, twice, almost in reverence.

“This was MooMaw’s,” he says, quiet. “I remember it.”

“Who’s MooMaw?” Ollie asks. 

“My grandmother,” Bitty says, running his thumbs over the fabric of the angel. “You know, they didn’t take me, at first.”

“What?”

“When they tested everyone, at three or four or whenever they tested us, they didn’t realize I had powers. Because none of the things they did made me react in a way that would have shown I  _ did.  _ And when they asked if I had a special power, I said ‘Yes’ and pulled a crayon out of my coat pocket. They thought I was saying I could draw. So they sent me back home. No one noticed for a while. I lived there until I was seven.” 

He touches each of the angel’s eyes, one after the other. “When I entered kindergarten, I was seven. I’d been sick most of the year before, and they hadn’t enrolled me.”

Bitty squeezes his eyes shut. “On the first day, the teacher saw me pull a marker from midair, and she knew. She called someone, and two days later they took me. Told my mama and my daddy it was a freak accident, that I slipped through the cracks.”

“You don’t remember them, though. How do you remember all that?”

He laughs, but it’s humorless. “I don’t let myself remember them. I know neither of them had powers. I know they wanted fifteen kids- they were always talking about getting me a sibling. It’s easier-” His voice breaks. “It’s easier to think that they forgot about me, and now I can forget about them. But some things I can’t forget.”

“Like that day?”

“Like that day,” Bitty says, “Or cooking. But I don’t remember what anyone I knew looked like, or what their names were, or their voices. But I remember Mama tucking me in. I remember making my first pie. I remember throwing a football with Daddy.” 

He looks up at the tree, smiles at Ollie. “Let’s finish with this.”

  
  


*

Ollie brings Wicks breakfast.

“Hey,” he says, shaking him gently. Wicks is sleeping more than usual, is lethargic during the day. He isn’t eating great, either. “Hey, Wicks. I brought you breakfast.”

“Eggs?” Wicks mumbles.

“And bacon,” Ollie says. He sits down on the edge of the bed. Wicks rolls over, smiles sleepily at him.

“Thanks,” Wicks says, sitting up. Ollie leans in and gives him a peck on the lips. “You were up early.”

“Bitty got me up,” Ollie says, passing him the plate of food. “We decorated the tree, made breakfast.”

“Oh, good,” Wicks says. “It looked really sad, just sitting there.”

“It did,” Ollie says, leaning into Wicks. Wicks presses a kiss to the top of Ollie’s head, then goes back to his eggs. “I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too,” Wicks says. “More than words.”

*

They get drunk for Christmas. They take the tree out back and burn it, like that first night. Bitty rescues the angel, tucks it under one arm, and sits in a lawn chair and tucks himself into a little ball, shivering a little.

“Fuck this!” Holster’s yelling. Shitty howls in response. “Fuck this, and fuck them, and fuck everything!”

“Hell yeah,” Shitty screams, then throws back the rest of his beer. “Fuck everything!”

Ransom’s by Holster’s side, swaying a little. He laces their hands together.

“Everything sucks,” Ollie announces, and then he laughs. “Everything sucks, but at least we aren’t at that fucking place anymore!”

“I’ll drink to that,” Holster says, and Shitty howls. Bitty winces.

“I’m going inside,” Bitty says, and Shitty slinks around the fire to him.

“ _ Hey _ , Bits,” Shitty says, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired,” Bitty says, “I’m going to bed.”

He walks away. Shitty looks like he might follow, but Johnson shakes his head and says, “Leave him, Shits.”

“Have another beer,” Ransom offers.

“Fine,” Shitty says. Ollie tosses him one. “Thanks.”

It’s silent. The fire cracks.

“Fuck it,” Shitty says, and he jumps into the flames. He clambers up the burning tree, laughing. “Hell yeah!” He throws his head back and howls.

Holster’s watching him, swaying a little. “Get the fuck out of the fire, Shitty,” he yells at him. Ransom lays a hand on his arm.

“Hell no,” Shitty says, “It’s nice here.” And then he’s howling again.

No one joins in this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! im sorry its been so long since i uploaded, but life's catching up with me. don't worry, im not abandoning this thing (i actually have a plot outline (can you believe??)). as always, thank you all for reading, and all kudos and comments are highly appreciated. thank you sola for being a gr8 beta and brainstorm partner, and thank you omgsp for being amazing!!
> 
> have a great day - cole


	6. movement one

One morning, Holster slams the door to Bitty’s bedroom open, waking Ollie and Wicks up with a start.

“What the hell, man?” Wicks says, rubbing his eyes. Holster’s wide eyed, frantic.

“Shitty’s gone,” Holster says, panicked, “Shitty’s- shit, fuck. Shitty wasn’t here all afternoon and now it’s nearly ten in the morning and he’s still not.”   
  


“ _ Shit, _ ” Ollie says, and jumps out of bed.

They all run down the stairs and outside, where Ransom’s standing barefoot in the snow. There’s a line of footprints leading into the forest in front of him.

“He’s gone,” Ransom says, his voice flat. “I thought he just needed-”

“C’mon, dude,” Holster says, wrapping an arm around Ransom’s shoulders and guiding him inside. “I’ll make us breakfast.”

*

Life changes again after that. Ollie and Wicks start doing supply runs on their own, mostly because Ransom’s a china teacup right now, about to break at the slightest push. Holster’s afraid to leave him, and they can’t both come because no one wants to leave Jack, Johnson and Bitty alone.

“Here,” Bitty says one day before they go on a supply run, catching them at the door. “I just- It’s dangerous, out there.” He shoves a second tranq gun into their hands.

“Thanks, Bits,” Ollie says. Bitty nods.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else,” Bitty says, and then disappears back into the Haus.

*

They hold hands walking to the drop point. Ollie keeps one hand on the tranq gun.

“What happened?” Murray asks as he helps them load the bags they brought with them the delivery.

“Shitty ran off,” Wicks says. Ollie nods.

“Oh,” Murray says, “Lardo’s gotten to him, huh?”

“Yeah,” Wicks says, his voice cracking, “It has.”   
  


*

The thing about pain, Ollie is learning, is that pain doesn’t go away. It becomes a dull ache under your ribs, like hunger, and it just rests there. You can’t forget people, you can’t forget friends. The door to Shitty’s room stays shut- no one wants to go in there anymore.

The thing about remembering, Ollie realizes while washing the dishes, is that sometimes it’s easier to forget than remember. It’s easier to pretend Shitty never was, that he was a shell of a person no one saw like Jack. But Shitty was anything but. He was a glorious bastard, a bright, boisterous, borderline insane mess of a human who named them and made them people.

“He’s gone, Rans,” Ollie overhears Holster saying one night, “He’s gone, and it’s horrible, but we knew it was coming.”

“Doesn’t mean I wish it didn’t happen,” Ransom snaps back.

“You gotta stop feeling guilty,” Holster says. “It’s not on you.”

“It would have happened, eventually,” Johnson says from his nest.

Ollie tunes the rest of it out.

*

“You’re not okay, are you?” Wicks whispers into Ollie’s hair one night. Ollie nods.

“You don’t have to be the strong one all the time,” Wicks says, tracing circles on Ollie’s arm. “I know everyone’s a disaster right now, it’s hurting all us, but you can be broken for a little bit, too. I know you’re not fine, Ollie.”

“It’s just, I didn’t know them,” Ollie says, “I met them, and I lived in a house with them for a little while, but they were more everyone else’s friends than mine.”

“They were still your friends,” Wicks says. Ollie buries his head in Wick’s shoulder. Wicks runs a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to be someone’s best friend to have loved them.”

“It’s hard,” Ollie says, looking up, “It’s just, it felt like for a moment we were someplace better, someplace we could have love and now it’s just-”

“Being ripped out from under us,” Wicks says, nodding. “I wish we could be normal.”

“I know,” Ollie says, “I know.

*

There’s a point in time where Ollie stops getting up. It’s like he can’t- like the world is covered in thick gray fog. He just lays there, staring at a wall and thinking about nothing.

“Ollie,” Wicks whispers one day, knocking on the doorframe, “We hafta go on a supply run.”

“Wicks,” he hears Holster say, “I’ll go with you.”

Ollie just lays there.

He feels bad, because he can feel Wicks unravelling, too, but it’s like something’s flipped, and suddenly he’s really not okay.

“Hey,” Wicks says every night when he tucks himself in next to Ollie, “I know everything’s fucked right now, but you have to talk to me.”

Ollie just rolls over, buries his head under Wicks’s chin, and cries.

*

One morning, Bitty wakes him up.

“Get up,” Bitty says, with a little too much force for someone who wouldn’t even talk a few months ago. “You have to stop this.”

“No one gets pissed when Jack stops being a real person,” Ollie says, angrily.

“Jack’s not much of a real person anymore, is he?” Bitty says. “When he locks himself away from everyone else he tears up his blankets and mattress and the goddamn wallpaper! You’re just sitting in here, staring at a wall. And I get it. Everything sucks right now. I know it does. But you haven’t eaten anything in three days and Wicks is ‘bout ready to start tearing his hair out because you won’t talk to him. So come downstairs, eat something, and sit on the porch with all us for a moment.”

“Fine,” Ollie says, slowly peeling himself from the bed, “Fine.”

It’s not that bad, in the end. Ollie sits back to the wall of the porch, pressed next to Wicks, and eats some pancakes Bitty made. They watch the sun, and listen to the forest, and Holster demonstrates his perfect bird call. It sounds like a dying hyena.

“That’s so bad, dude,” Ransom says, laughing, and knocks into Holster’s shoulder.

“It is not,” Holster says. “We all howled like banshees with him for years, so none of you get to talk about my perfectly stupendously awesome bird call.”

Ransom laughs, and leans back on the porch. Holster shoves him off, into the mud and the grass just beginning to turn back to green.

“Fuck you,” Ransom says, but he’s smiling. “Fuck you, you dick. What did I ever do to you?”

“You boys are all idiots,” Bitty announces, and everyone laughs, and a little bit of the weight in Ollie’s chest recedes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus, we close a chapter. 
> 
> as always, thank you all for reading! id love to know your thoughts on it so far, and apologize for the wait (i had writers block for like..... two weeks). thank you omgsp and sola for betaing and being amazing!! ill be back with another chapter...... eventually


	7. interlude one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like you all to know i listened to the live (with album) version of "sound" by sylvan esso the entire time i was writing this chapter and oh boy. you can tell.

“Do you think we would have found each other in another life?” Wicks asks as the sun rises one morning. Neither him or Ollie could sleep last night—they’re back on the mattress in the living room, finally, and it felt so weird, so strange to be in a big, open space, it kept both of them awake. Johnson’s snoring softly from his corner.

“I hope so,” Ollie says, because hope is a sweet thing, like a spoonful of sugar stolen from Bitty’s baking supplies, something no one is meant to have, but yet, they do. “I just, you know.”

“I know,” Wicks says back, tucking his forehead into the back of Ollie’s neck. “It’s just sometimes I wonder, is there another world where we got to fall in love like this where we could be normal? Where we could be stupid kids for once in our lives, where we could be people? Where we could have kids and jobs and get old and die in our sleep? Or in order for us to be together do we have to be stuck in this stupid ass forest in this stupid ass house?”

“I think I would have found you in any life,” Ollie says, rolling over to look at Wicks. “I don’t think I could ever feel complete without you, Wicky. I love you, and that isn’t ever changing. I can’t imagine living in a world where I wasn’t in love with you.”

“I can’t either,” Wicks says. “That’s why I asked.”

*

Johnson starts coming with them on supply runs. He’s unnerving, to say the least.

“A cardinal’s gonna call in two minutes,” he’ll say, and then it will. “You’re going to trip,” he’ll say to one of them, and then, even though they’re watching their feet like they might run away from their bodies, they will.

When he’s not predicting, he just stares at the sky.

Ollie wonders if that is the curse of being a psychic. If you can always see two inches ahead of you, if you always know what the next minute will bring. He wonders if that’s what the notebooks are for, to let the prophecies spill out of his head.

He doesn’t ask.

Harden hates Johnson. It’s apparent from the first run he comes on, when Harden taps his head and laughs, disgusted and bitter, and says, “This is why they leave the psychic ones in the woods.” Johnson just stares right past his head.

_ Fuck you _ , Ollie wants to say. He wants to spit in Harden’s face, tell him that Johnson is ten times a better person than Harden will ever be, but Harden controls the food, and they’re not entirely sure that Bitty isn’t giving away a little part of himself every time he makes something appear, so he shuts his mouth and shoves food into duffel bags.

“See you next time,” Wicks says.

Ollie doesn’t say anything.

*

One day, Ollie wakes up and there’s a record player and a crate of records in the living room. Bitty’s in the kitchen, slamming pots around, and he knows where it came from immediately.

“Hey,” he says to Bitty, poking his head in the kitchen, “What’s up with the records?”

“I had a dream,” Bitty says, mixing something. “They were there when I woke up.”

That night, after Johnson goes to sleep, Wicks puts on the first record in the crate. It’s a soft, slow song, with a lady gently singing. Ollie can barely understand her, but the song is beautiful.

“K’mere,” Wicks says, offering a hand to Ollie, who’s laying on their mattress. “Come dance.”

“I don’t know how to dance,” Ollie says, smiling.

“Neither do I,” Wicks says, “Come dance with me.”

“Okay,” Ollie says, extending his hand and letting Wicks haul him to his feet, “Okay.”

“Here,” Wicks says, wrapping his arms around Ollie’s waist, “We don’t have to do anything fancy. Just sway.”

“Okay,” Ollie says, leaning into Wicks. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Wicks says, laying his head on Ollie’s shoulder, “Just feel it.”

“The music?”

“Yeah.”

“Where did you learn about slow dancing?”

“Stupid movies,” Wicks says, looking up. His eyes are smiling. “It’s what you do at prom when you’re in stupid teenage love.”

“Are we in stupid teenage love?” Ollie asks. They’ve managed to sway in a little circle.

“Maybe,” Wicks says, “If you want us to be.”

“I’d like to go to prom with you,” Ollie says, softly. “I’d like to take you to the movies, and get you flowers, and whatever else they do in those movies.”

“Kiss in the back of pickup trucks.”

“I’d like to do that too,” Ollie says.

“At least we can sway to stupid romantic music,” Wicks says, “Even if we can’t match clothes and get each other those tiny arm roses and make each other big signs.”

“I wish you could have that, Wicks,” Ollie says, tucking his head into Wicks neck. “I wish I could give you that. I wish I could give you normal.”

“I don’t have to have normal to love you, Ollie,” Wicks says. “I would take this over a world where I didn’t ever fall in love with you, you know.”

“Oh,” Ollie says, “I-”

“You’re not the only one in love here, idiot,” Wicks says, and Ollie lifts his head. Wicks’s crying, now. “I love you, you stupid fuck.”

Ollie kisses him.

*

One morning, Jack’s downstairs, trying to work the coffee machine Bitty made appear the other day. Ollie steps in.

“Thanks,” Jack says. “Bitty’s hooked me on it.”

“Where is Bitty?” Ollie asks.

“Asleep,” Jack says, “I didn’t want to wake him up for this.”

“Yeah,” Ollie says, looking back to where Wick’s asleep on the mattress. “I know that feeling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading! i know its been two months, and that this one is so short, but ive been booked as of recent. i will be attempting to try to to update more regularly again, (and we'll get back into the meat of the story) but who knows. as always, i highly appreciate comments and kudos, and thank you for reading!!


	8. interlude one

Spring shows up all at once. One morning, they wake up, and there is no more snow outside. The plants, which had been slowly coming back to life, have flooded what was barren ground just a few days before. Bitty makes a pair of wicker chairs and a rocking chair appear, and they start eating breakfast outside on the porch.

Bitty’s taken back residence of the kitchen, making breakfast most days, although he sometimes lets Wicks help. Everyone else gets shooed out when he’s cooking.

“None of y’all can cook,” he’ll explain if someone explains. “I don’t trust you.”

Bitty starts tending to his back garden again. Ollie helps with that, even though Jack’s usually out there, too, and it’s clear that Bitty and Jack are used to each other, the way they move like a single unit, like two people made into one. They know each other, that much is obvious.

“No, that one’s rosemary,” Bitty says, gently, “That one is basil.”

Their conversations feel too personal. Ollie just weeds.

Sometimes, Ollie will nearly open Shitty’s door.

He never does.

*

The spring feels like a time to heal. It feels like new beginnings. That’s what Ollie thinks, as Holster tosses popcorn at Ransom from across the room while the beginning credits of the cheesy rom-com Wicks picked run and Bitty tucks himself into Jack’s side. It’s what he thinks when he wakes up one morning and there’s a new shelf in the living room and Bitty’s trying diligently to shelve all of Johnson’s notebooks. That’s what he thinks when Jack begs coffee off of Bitty in the morning. It’s what he thinks when Holster comes downstairs draped over Ransom’s shoulders, when he wakes up with Wicks’s head tucked into his side.

He thinks that maybe, maybe, they’re healing.

*

“What are you doing?” Ollie says, finding Bitty digging in his closet one morning. Bitty pokes his head out.

“Hiding the coffee maker,” Bitty says, “I didn’t realize Jack was gonna get addicted.”

“Oh,” Ollie says. “Could you just disappear it?”

“I don’t think so,” Bitty says. “I think I can only make things appear.”

“Oh,” Ollie says. “Do you practice, at all?”

Bitty shrugs noncommittally. “I guess? Sometimes I just make things appear, especially when I’m sleeping. Doesn’t really take a lot of practice, it more takes me being healthy than anything else. Do you?”

“No. No point, I think,” Ollie says. “Wicks does, though.”

“I know,” Bitty says.

*

They’ve reached a new normal. Johnson continues to be Johnson, but Holster tag teams back onto the supply run crew. They watch movies every night, now, because they all want to be together. Even Jack comes down, spending most of his time curled up near Bitty.

“He’s almost like a dog,” Wicks says one day. Ollie nods. He wonders if Holster was right, and if Jack helped bring Bitty back to life, or if Bitty brought Jack back to life, or if it was a little of both.

Supply runs are a cold, quiet affair. They don’t want to talk to Harden, and it’s apparent that Hall and Murray don’t want any idle chit chat. It’s snappier, now, then it was before. They get their stuff, exchange a few words, give a request or two, and go. Murray looks disheveled most days. Ollie wonders what's stressing him out. He asks, one run.

“Newborn,” Murray says. “They’re a little much, you know.”

He doesn’t know, and, logistically, he won’t ever know. He’ll die before he could ever meet a newborn.

He’s never met a baby, he realizes one night, and then, afterwards, cries himself to sleep. Wicks cards a hand through his hair.

*

They do spring cleaning, on Bitty’s demand. With the shift of the seasons, he’s talking less again, but nobody really minds. They know him at this point, understand his body language and how he tells you without telling you what he wants. He directs, they clean. They dust and sweep and add curtains everywhere and make the Haus, despite what looks like decades of water damage and termites, and mattress in living rooms, and broken porch beams, into what could be someone’s home.

What could be their home.

It’s strange, but Ollie’s been looking at the Haus as something temporary for a while now. It’s a passing-through point before he gets to go back into the real world, it’s a falsehood, a nightmare. It’s not real. But looking around, watching Bitty bump hips with Jack while they scrub down the counters and Ransom and Holster chasing each other with spray bottles and Wicks stand on Johnson’s shoulders to clean the top of the ceiling fan, it feels like theirs. Like they’re finally reclaiming it as their own.

It feels wonderful.

*

There’s one morning, they all sleep in. 

It goes like this: they all fell asleep during their third movie of the night, piled onto the mattress and the couch, and they stayed there until the sun had passed its peak. Bitty didn’t make breakfast. Wicks didn’t help. Jack didn’t beg for coffee.

Someone knocks at the door.

They sleep.

The someone knocks louder.

Bitty opens one eye. “I’ll make breakfast in a minute, Jack,” he says.

Someone knocks even louder. Bitty sits up. “Guys,” he whispers. He shakes Jack awake. “There’s someone outside.”

“Shit,” Jack says. “Ransom- Holster-”

Everyone else is waking up, slowly, now. “Wha,” Holster slurs.

“There’s someone outside,” Jack says. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Good plan,” Holster says. Bitty and Johnson follow Jack upstairs.

“You two staying?” Ransom says to Ollie and Wicks. They nod. Wicks disappears.

They walk to the door. The someone hasn’t knocked anymore, not since they started talking. Holster unlocks it.

Holster pushes it open.

Lardo’s laying there, pale as a piece of paper, in a pool of blood.

She opens her eyes.

“Took you long enough,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SOLA I FORGOT LAST TIME. anyways thank you all for reading, i know this is a very quick update but i have been feeling it recently and also i want to give you the goods before i get too busy. as always, kudos and comments are highly appreciated, and thank you all again for reading. if you want my tumblr for some godforsaken reason i am also tapdancinglorax over there. thank you all!!!!


	9. movement two

“It’s nice in here,” she says, when they carry her inside. Holster relocks the door. “Like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Lardo, stop fucking talking and tell me where he got you,” Ransom says.

“Everywhere,” she says, suddenly bitter. “Did you know he likes to toy with his finds before he kills them? He likes to play with us, let us run, bring us back. It’s sickening. He nearly killed me like five times. It’s a miracle I’m not dead.”

They haul her onto the kitchen table. Ransom darts downstairs to get the small medical kit they’ve slowly been accumulating.

“Get Bitty down here,” Ransom says to Holster, who nods and walks towards the stairs. Ransom stops him at the bottom. “Jack, too, this’ll probably freak the poor-”

“No,” Lardo says. “Not Jack.”

“Why not-”

“You fucking know-”

“You haven’t been here for months, Lards-”

“And who’s goddamn fault is-”

“Not Jack’s-”

“Yeah, but-”

“What do you need me for?” Bitty says, appearing. Lardo smiles at him.

“Hi, Bitty,” she says, and Bitty bursts into tears. He goes to hug her, but Ransom stops him.

“I don’t know what’s up,” Ransom says. “I’m. I might need some stuff.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Do I have to watch?”

“No,” Ransom says. “Of course not.”

Bitty leaves. Ollie catches Jack’s shadow from the corner of his eye, watches him take a seat next to Bitty, watches Bitty tuck himself into Jack’s side. He glances down at Lardo. She’s watching them too, eyes narrowed.

“He’s different,” she says. “He’s out of his room.”

“Bitty’s been good for him,” Holster says, simply. 

She hums, then grimaces when Ransom pokes her. “How’s Shits?”

Ransom pulls back. “Lards-”

“Oh,” she says, and it’s apparent she  _ knows.  _ “Oh. I thought, I thought Jack…”

“We all did,” Holster says.

Ollie wonders if he’s the only one catching the tears in her eyes, or if the others are just letting her live it, without trying to push her to talk.

He thinks it's probably the latter.

*

She pretends she’s fine, to all their faces, but Ollie can see through it. She’s tiny, even more than before. Ollie catches her wrapping her hands around her little wrists, measuring them. It’s apparent the physical toll is hurting her powers, too, even though she hasn’t said a word about it. Holster mentions it to him, when Ollie asks why she won’t rejoin their supply runs.

“She can’t make anything move,” Holster says, leaning on the porch. “You haven’t noticed?”

“No,” Ollie says. He’s leaning on the post next to the stairs. “I haven’t.”

“I’ll walk in, and she’ll just be sitting there, staring at a can or something. She’ll say something awkward about it, try to hide what she’s doing, but I know.”

“Oh,” Ollie says. “That’s-”

“You can’t imagine life without your power, right?” Holster says. “I know you don’t use it much, for whatever reason. But imagine not being able to use it. You try to access it, and it’s just not there. Nothing. But you can feel it, just barely out of reach.”

“How do you know that?”

“She told me,” Holster says. “I just- It sounds so horrible. I can’t imagine not having my power, it’s such a part of me. Everything I do, I do it with super strength. Every door I open, every plate I pick up, it’s there. I know it’s the same for Lardo. She moves with it, lets herself just float. And now that’s been stripped away.”

“Is it permanent?”

“Hell if I know,” Holster says. “I sure as hell hope not.”

*

Lardo doesn’t trust Jack.

This becomes apparent by day three of her being back, one where Ransom finally starts to wean her off the painkillers and she starts to come back to the land of the living. She watches him from across the room, eyes narrowed.

“How can you just let him loose,” she says, on the porch one day. “Especially around Bitty. What the hell is that kid going to do against  _ Jack. _ ”

“Jack’s not going to hurt Bitty, Lards,” Ransom says. “He’s back on his meds. Bitty’s been good for him. He’s stable, more stable than he has been since we’ve known him.”

“You don’t know,” she says. “Sometimes they seem normal. Sometimes they’ll feed you, and let you go wash your hair. Sometimes they’ll fucking tear you to shreds. You can’t tell. You can’t fucking tell. They aren’t people anymore, you get that, right? They don’t understand anything. They don’t get what’s right and wrong and what they should and shouldn’t do.” Her knuckles are white where she’s clutching the railing on the porch. Her arms are shaking.

“I know, Lards,” Holster says, “But you don’t get it. Jack’s got a coupla screws loose, yeah, but he’s not gone yet. He’s still here. Sure, he lurks around like a cat. Sure, he can be scary. But you should see the way he looks after Bitty. Jack’s not him.”

“You’ll all wish you fucking listened to me when he goes insane,” she says.

*

Sometimes, Ollie catches her staring off, off the porch, in the morning. No one’s there, with her, and he worries. She can’t protect herself, not without her powers. 

He can tell she’s mourning.

She’ll stare out into the forest, then hang her head.

Once, Ollie went out with her. She looked up at him, then looked back out at the trees.

“Who figured out he was gone?” she says, softly.

“Ransom,” Ollie says. “We all saw it coming, at the end. He stopped eating. He wouldn’t leave his room. He wasn’t really much of a person, anymore.”

“I always thought-”

“We all thought Jack was gonna go before him, Lardo.”

“I saw him slipping,” Lardo says. “I knew he wasn’t gonna last much longer. But he was trying so hard. So, so hard. For me, for the next kids, for Jack. I could see the cracks, but I-” She looks down at her hands. Ollie can hear her give a tiny sob. “That’s the first thing I thought, when he dragged me off. That this is it. This is what kills Shits. And that was the worst part.”

She takes a breath, runs her hands through her hair. “The worst part wasn’t knowing I was going to die. I almost welcomed it, because I kinda thought, you know, I would rather die here, knowing who I am, than to lose myself slowly. But knowing that Shitty wasn’t going to make it, knowing he was going to leave all of you- that cut me to the core.”

She looks at the trees, wrapping her arms around herself. “I miss him.”

“I know,” Ollie says. “I know.”

*

Lardo’s sleeping on another appeared mattress in the attic. Ollie saw Ransom glance at Shitty’s door, that first day, when Lardo was passed out from the meds and he was carrying her to bed, then head right up the attic stairs.

“I couldn’t do that to her,” he explains. “I just- It would’ve killed her. She’s already blaming herself- I-”

“No one thinks that’s unreasonable, Rans,” Holster says. Ransom leans into him. “We’re not wasting space. We can shove the next three in there. We don’t have to make ourselves go through that.”

“C’mon,” Wicks says, pulling Ollie out of the kitchen. “Let’s give them some space.”

*

Bitty’s retracted back into himself. Ollie catches him talking to the stove, to Jack, to the doors, but he doesn’t talk to them. He just sits there, shrinks back into himself.

“It’s just so much,” Ollie overhears him tell Jack. “So, so much.”

“I know,” Jack whispers back. “I know, bud.”

It’s hard to see Bitty back at square one, and Ollie wishes, not for the first time, that he could have a normal life. Live with his parents. Grow up, do magic tricks for little kids, make them gasp when he pulled coins from midair.

But the world isn’t fair, and they were stuck here.

Ollie leaves him and Jack alone.

*

“Hey,” Murray says when they show up for pick up. “How’s the house?”

“Still the Haus,” Holster says.

“How are y’all?” Hall says. “Any news?”

“Lardo’s back,” Ransom says. They both came, because they asked for more stuff than usual the last time they saw Hall and Murray. Hall freezes. “Can you get us some stuff?”

“We marked Lardo as dead or missing,” Hall says. “You told us she was dead or missing.”

“What do you mean marked?” Holster says. “And you’re really gonna get mad at us because she’s fucking alive?”

“We have to track you lot’s health,” Murray says. “That’s why we’re always-”

“Fuck you,” Holster says, laughter bubbling up from the back of his throat, “Fuck you. You’re pissed you did some goddamn paperwork wrong? We thought she was  _ dead _ . Our friend, you sick fucks. She’s not some number. She’s our, our- Fuck you. You got the stuff?”

Ollie and Wicks nod.

“Good, ‘cause we’re fucking leaving,” Holster says. “Fuck you, really. I thought you two might give like half a shit, but apparently you’re as bad as everyone else out there.”

“Holster, wait-” Murray starts, “We do-”

“We’re not a goddamn science experiment, Murray,” Holster says. “We’re people, too.”

They leave.

*

“I wish we weren’t here,” Ollie says, softly, into Wicks’ neck that night.

“Me too,” Wicks says. “God, me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading!!! im like. really enjoying this story, and am going to keep writing on it when i can, but i recently started back at school, and my time is getting consumed by that more than anything else. this work is not going to be abandoned, however, the updates are just going to be a little further apart. thank you all again, and every comment and kudo is appreciated. thank you, and ill see you next update!!


	10. movement two

The pain of summer, they find out fast, is that the AC’s been busted for as long as any of the boys have lived there, and no one knows how to fix it.

“You get used to it,” Johnson says, one day. “After a while.” He’s lying on the stairs, on his back. He’s almost like a cat. He’s draped his head over the end, stares at them from where they sit on the couch. It’s unnerving, like he can see through their eyes. “You two are together, aren’t you?”

“No-” Ollie starts. Johnson looks at them more intensely. It’s almost animalistic, and for the first time Ollie really understands what happens out there, in the woods. What Jack is becoming. It’s this.

“I knew months ago,” Johnson says, “I saw it. You know no one here would care? You know we’ve all gotten past the shit they installed in us in that place, right?”

“It’s just…” Wicks says, motioning with his hands. “I can’t. Not yet.”

Johnson fixes his stare on Ollie.

“Me either,” Ollie says. “Please don’t tell them.”

“I won’t,” Johnson says, “Don’t worry about it.”

*

There’s one day, when the heat of the Haus is so bad even Bitty, who’s heat tolerance is oddly high, is outside on the porch, laying on his stomach with a pound of frozen peas on his back, that Ransom comes downstairs with a stack of towels and says, “K’mon. We’re going swimming.”

They hike down the river. Lardo hangs back, by Holster, but looks happy for the excursion, all in all. Jack hangs by Bitty, leaning into him as they whisper back and forth to each other. Ollie and Wicks hook their pinkies. Ransom talks about science, about math, about the world and the stars and the universe, as they go. Holster carries a picnic basket on one shoulder.

When they get to the river, they all strip down to their underwear, and jump in. It’s cold, but not too cold. It’s enough to battle away the heat, to let themselves relax for a moment. They play chicken, Lardo on Holster’s shoulders and Bitty on Jack’s and Wick’s on Johnson’s, and Ollie and Ransom referee. It’s fun.

When the water goes from refreshing to biting, they all get out and lay in a circle and tell each other stories. They’re fake and cheesy and something out of another life, but it’s comforting. It feels like, for once, they’re really, truly normal. A group of friends from school out in the woods for a day, or maybe a night, doing nothing more than being teenagers.

That afternoon, Bitty gets them some marshmallows and graham crackers and chocolate, and Ransom makes a fire with some things he brought, and they all sit around and make s’mores. It’s the best thing Ollie’s ever eaten, and Wicks groans when he bites into his.

“This is what they’re hiding from us,” Wicks says, after his sixth. “Asshats.” Everyone laughs.

Halfway through the afternoon, they realize Bitty’s gone.

“He was right here,” Jack says, almost desperate. “I got up to grab a drink and now he’s- He’s gone.”

“Shit,” Holster says, “We’ve got to find him. Like, now.”

“Split up,” Ransom says. “Holster with Lardo and Johnson. Me with Jack. Wicks with Ollie. We each go a different direction- don’t bother looking across the river.”

They all nod, and split up.

*

Ollie and Wicks find Bitty in the woods, crouched by a pool of blood, staring. Harden’s in the middle of the blood. His body’s covered head to toe in gashes, and it’s clear, from the glassy look in his eyes, that he’s dead. Bitty rocks back on his heels.

“Oh,” Ollie says when they stumble into the clearing. “Bits, hey, Bits, lets go.”

Bitty just keeps staring.

“I could have saved him,” Bitty says, softly. “I could have- I could have called for you. Ransom could have helped. We could have, I don’t know. I could have pulled a phone from nowhere, called the emergency number. But I didn’t.”

“You didn’t have to,” Ollie says, “It’s okay, Bitty.”

“But it’s not,” Bitty says, sounding hysteric. “I killed him, Ollie. He’s dead because I didn’t want him to be alive anymore. He’s- I-”

He cuts off, burying his head in his arms. “I just, I looked at him, and I saw everything they’ve ever done to me. And I couldn’t make myself care about him, because I saw. I knew. He would have  _ never  _ cared about me.”

Something rustles overhead.

“Bits,” Wicks says, “We need to go.”

Bitty stands up.

As they leave, Ollie and Wicks flanking Bitty, Ollie turns, and he swears he sees a flash of pale skin through the leaves of the trees.

*

The next day, the new batch arrives.

“They’re early,” Ransom says, when they hear the bus roar in. “It’s too early for them.”

Ransom goes to get them and comes back with three kids, fresh from the academy. It strikes Ollie how clean cut they are- one boy has a buzz cut. The other two kids, a boy and a girl, have clean, well trimmed hair. They’re standing stiffly, quietly.

It’s odd, to see them prior to being broken, before the woods could start to seep into their bones.

Or maybe, they’ve already been broken, and they’re seeing them before they could come back to life.

“You weren’t supposed to come for another couple of months,” Ransom says, on the porch. The kids haven’t even dropped their backpacks yet.

“They told us something happened,” the girl says, hair draped over her eyes. “They said they were just going to send us early.”

“What happened?” Ransom asks. “Do you know?”

“Something with a guy named Harden,” one of the boys, the one without the buzz cut, says.

Next to Ollie and Wicks, Bitty shrinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok. look. i know its been a month, and i know this is incredibly short, but i have THINGS (long things, big things) coming up and this is to tide you guys over until the next chapter (which is going to be massive holy shit). hopefully i will have another chapter out in a week or so and for now enjoy this. thank you all for reading and as always comments and kudos are INCREDIBLY appreciated. i love you guys so much and hopefully i will be back again in less than a month this time. - cole


	11. movement two

They name the girl Farmer, the boy without the buzzcut Nursey.

“My name is Dex,” the boy with the buzzcut says, and then he doesn’t say anything else.

Farmer’s a shapeshifter. She changes faces like some people change clothes: like they’re discardable, disposable.

“Can I practice on you?” she says, softly, to Ollie one night, while they sit in the Reading Room. The sun’s slowly going down.

“Sure,” Ollie says. Across from him, Farmer shifts, and his face stares back at him.

She’s not perfect. There are lines missing from her version of Ollie that he knows are there- the bags under his eyes aren’t dark enough. Ollie’s teeth aren’t crooked, and when she tries Wicks later that week, she doesn’t nail the exact bend of his nose, from where Ollie broke it in training when they were fourteen. She’s not perfect, but she’s good.

She’s good enough that when Ollie wakes up the morning after they arrive and sees Jack asleep under the kitchen table, he doesn’t think anything of it, just presumes Jack had another bad night and ended up downstairs, until Jack clambers down the stairs with Bitty, and all three of them stand there and stare.

“Oh,” Bitty says. “She’s-”

“Yeah,” Ollie says, “Yeah.”

*

“Why’d you sleep under the table?” Ollie asks at lunch that day. They’re all out on the porch, Ollie and Wick’s legs tangled together as they sit there and eat their sandwiches. Farmer’s been following them everywhere. It’s strange, because less than a year ago they were doing that to Shitty and Holster and Ransom and Lardo, and now they’ve got their own kids to follow them.

Farmer shrugs her shoulders. Her eyes flash deep red, and she shrinks into herself a little more.

“There’s gotta be a reason. No one wants to sleep on the floor willingly,” Wicks says, pushing gently.

“I can’t share with them,” Farmer says, softly. She doesn’t meet their eyes.

“Oh,” Ollie says. They holed the three frogs up into Shitty’s old room, mattress on the floor for Farmer. The boys took the bunk. “Do you not feel comfortable with them?”

“Not like that,” Farmer says. “It’s just-” She shakes her head, glances over at where Dex and Nursey are sitting, glaring at each other. “They fight. A lot.”

“Oh,” Ollie says, again. “Do you want us to find you a room?”

“I don’t mind sleeping under the table,” she says. It strikes Ollie how much like Bitty she is, how broken and bruised, right to her core. Her voice doesn’t raise above a whisper and she’s always trying to shrink into herself, even though she’s a mess of long arms and legs and can’t disappear that easily. “It’s, I don’t know, safe, kinda.”

“We get it,” Wicks says, and Ollie thinks about how he can’t sleep without Wicks curled around his side anymore, and decides, yeah, they do get it.

*

They haul her mattress under the table. Bitty conjures her up some blankets, and she makes herself a nest under the table. “Just like Johnson,” Wicks jokes, and she gives them a shy smile.

“We should have a bonfire,” Wicks says to Ollie, the second night after they show up. They’re curled up together, Wicks pressed into Ollie’s chest.

“You wanna? For the new kids?” Ollie mumbles. It’s late. He’s tired.

“Yeah,” Wicks says, “For them, a little.” He pauses, rubs Ollie’s back. “For him, a little. To remember him.”

“Oh,” Ollie says. “Yeah, that makes sense. Let’s give them a few days. Let them adjust.”

Wicks just nods.

*

On night three, something scratches at the door. Ollie wakes up immediately, shakes Wicks awake with him. Wicks disappears, but Ollie can still feel him in his arms, can feel his pulse racing.

“Lardooooooooooooo,” it says, and Ollie’s blood runs cold. “Lardoooooooooooo. Come back, Lardooooooooooo.”

He’s desperately glad they’ve started locking the doors.

*

On night four, they wake up and Farmer’s standing over them, wrapped in two comforters. “I can’t-” she says, almost desperately. “I can’t, I can’t.”

Ollie remembers those first few weeks, the feeling of being unhooked from everything he’d ever known, the feeling of not understanding anything now, and those few restless nights where the only thing that stopped him from crying through the night was Wicks, and he untangles himself from Wicks, rolls over, and says “K’mere, kid.”

She clambers in next to him, making a little ball out of her blankets, like she’s trying to hide herself from the world. It would have been awkward, Ollie thinks, if they were normal. It would have been awkward to have a girl his age in his bed while his boyfriend sleeps next to him if it wasn’t for the fact he can feel the girl shaking and when he says “What happened?” she just shakes her head and curls into a smaller ball.

He lays with her, rubbing comforting circles on her back, until her breathing changes and he can tell she’s asleep again, and then he rolls back over and tucks his nose into Wicks’s neck and lets sleep wash over him again.

*

They have the bonfire.

They won’t ever feel like that first one, Ollie thinks, because nothing will ever be able to capture the raw pain and joy and beauty of that first bonfire, when it felt like they were coming back to life, and they all howled with Shitty and the world was beautiful. They won’t ever feel like the first one, but he didn’t think it would be this bad.

Nursey and Dex fight, and Farmer makes them go sit on opposite sides of the fire, and they all drink but Lardo’s not even smiling and her feet are firmly planted on the ground and everything feels so  _ wrong.  _ The fire feels too hot and everyone gives it a wide berth and when Johnson starts to howl it’s so lackluster no one joins in and by the time Lardo’s on her second beer she shakes her head and throws the can down and goes, “I’m going to bed.” Ransom follows her up, to make sure she’s okay, he says again and again and again, and then Holster follows him and then Johnson slinks off into the night and then Bitty smiles a little too wide and says something about how he’s so tired and k’mon Jack let’s go to bed, and then it’s just Ollie and Wicks and the new kids and at that point there’s no reason to stay outside by a fire they don’t even want to be by so they just put it out and go inside and watch stupid movies and finished the beer on their own and Nursey and Dex won’t stop  _ fucking fighting  _ but the beer takes some of the edge off so it’s tolerable but Ollie and Wicks both let out a breath when Farmer banishes them for being “stupid fucks” and then promptly goes to hide in her nest.

It sucks ass, it sucks ass bad.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like that,” Wicks says softly that night, and Ollie can hear him cry a little, but it doesn’t feel like something he’s supposed to answer.

*

Nursey can make portals appear.

They’re smaller than his hands, most of the time, but he can’t control them very well and usually ends up sticking his foot through one and tripping. It’s endearing, to most of them. It pisses Dex off.

“You’re supposed to have better  _ control, _ ” Dex will say, and Nursey will flip him off and then they’re right back to fighting.

“They were always in competition for two and three at the academy,” Farmer says, while they watch some shitty show one night. “I was one, because I had good control and my powers were so strong naturally. Dex, well, he’s not as naturally powerful as Nursey, but he trained so hard, but he was still third and Nursey barely practiced ever and I think it drove him crazy.”

“You know that doesn’t matter anymore, right?” Wicks asks. Farmer nods.

“Old habits die hard, right?” she says.

*

Nursey likes to get stoned. He and Lardo can usually be found up in the Reading Room, sharing a joint in solemn silence. Sometimes Ollie joins them, sometimes Wicks, sometimes both.

Nursey starts to spout off poetry when he’s high, like some sort of breezy college student. Sonnets and limericks and beautiful spoken word, so brilliant it sometimes makes Ollie hurt, right down to the core. It’s so odd, how different from the rest of them Nursey is. How other. How the rest of them are all sharp edges and broken bones, and Nursey just seems to float above everything. He’s like a cloud, fluffy and carefree and untethered from reality.

Lardo doesn’t seem to trust him.

“He’s too…” She motions around her head, mouths  _ coo-coo,  _ “I think he left some of himself back at the compound.”

“Maybe he’s just dealing differently,” Wicks says. Ollie nods his agreement. “Not all of us have to be angry or quiet or pretend to be normal. Maybe him being calm and loud and floaty is just his way of dealing.”

“I don’t trust people who aren’t all here, Wicks,” Lardo says, and lifts up her shirt, shows them her still-healing stomach. There are deep scratches running down her skin, already scarring. “I can’t, not anymore. Not after him.”

“I get it, Lards,” Wicks says, “Really. Just- Give the kid a chance.”

“I am,” she says, defensive, “I let him get stoned with me, don’t I?”

*

Nursey squirrels away notebooks.

His bag was bursting at the seams with them, packed with a rainbow of notebooks with covers worn thin. The pages are wrinkled and have so clearly been looked over again and again, picked over until they’ve become thin enough to nearly see through. 

He’s fiercely protective of them. He’s the opposite of Johnson- anyone can read through Johnson’s ramblings, but no one chooses too. They don’t make any sense, and on the off chance something might click, it’s never anything good. Nursey’s notebooks are the opposite of that. Barely anyone gets to touch them.

Sometimes they come downstairs, and Farmer and Nursey have their heads stuck together, pouring over the notebooks. She’s the only person he’s ever allowed to look at them, according to Dex, who usually stomps off to his room if reminded of Farmer and Nursey getting along.

“They’re just so, so,” he’ll say, when Ollie or Wicks follow him and ask him what’s wrong. “They’re just so urgh.”

“He’s jealous,” Ollie says, one night, after they’re sure Farmer is asleep. “He wants what they have.”

*

The thing is, Nursey may look fine, but he’s really not.

Nursey’s as beaten and bruised as the rest of them. His skin hides bruises so much better, but they’re there, purple and blotchy and maring otherwise smooth skin. He winces when he has to climb the stairs, and doesn’t like to walk more than he has too.

“I wish I could float,” he whispers while he and Lardo smoke one night. They’re sitting on opposite sides of the Reading Room, as far apart as they could be, but yet so, so close.

“Me too,” Lardo whispers back. Ollie’d poked his head out to ask if they wanted to come watch the movie of the night, and pulls it back in.

Nursey’s broken, and you can see it when he lets you, but he doesn’t often let you. He doesn’t like others to see the broken parts of his soul. He’s a closed book, to everyone but Farmer and maybe Lardo, when he’s high enough. He’s broken, and it scares Ollie.

“You were like that a year ago,” Ransom says when Ollie asks. “He’ll heal, when he realizes he has people now. That he has people who don’t care. That we’ll love him, if we let him.”

“Okay,” Ollie says. “Okay.”

*

Here’s the thing about Dex: he’s so clearly scared.

He’s jumpier than the rest of them, even Farmer, but instead of shrinking, he’s managed to make himself bigger. He stands taller, wears boots that add two inches to his height. He turns red on command, gets angry even quicker. He stomps around and doesn’t talk and nearly punches Nursey in the face on day three. He doesn’t talk, until Nursey’s pushed him far enough that he’s screaming, screaming, screaming until he’s hoarse, then he’ll curl up in a corner of the living room and won’t say a word.

Bitty will sit cups of hot tea by his feet, after he’s done. He always takes it.

*

Dex comes on runs with them. His power isn’t very helpful, but he’s six foot two of lean muscle and that counts for something, in the woods. He still wears his compound issued windbreaker, but the heat gets bad enough sometimes he has to trade it in for a ratty t-shirt, and it ends up looped around his waist.

The buzz cut starts to grow out by the end of week one, and they catch him carding his hands through it, rubbing his hands over his head like he can’t believe he has hair. It grows in wavy, falling in soft curls around his ears and kissing the hollow of his neck.

On one of the runs, when it’s cool enough Dex’s windbreaker is wrapped around his shoulders ( _ PROPERTY OF MASSACHUSETTS,  _ it says, right over his heart), and they’re walking, him and Ollie and Wicks and Holster, Dex’s hand shoved in his pockets, Dex says, “Does it get better?”

“What?” Ollie says.

“Do you get used to it?” Dex asks. “Do you ever stop- Does it ever stop hurting?”

“Does what ever stop hurting?” Wicks says.

“Here,” Dex says. “Knowing that no one gives a fuck about you?”

“Hey, calm down there,” Holster says, “None of these guys, the ones who watch us, they might not care. But we fucking care a  _ lot _ , okay? You’re one of us, now.”

“Oh,” Dex says, and shrinks a little, “Thanks.”

*

There’s a new dude, taking the place of Harden. He’s younger than Harden was, but angrier, somehow.

“I know what you did to him,” he says, pissed, the first time they get there.   
  


“There are bears in the woods,” Holster says, and he sounds tired. Like he’s finally giving out- finally letting go. “There’s a lot of shit in those woods. He fucking forgot that.”

“I know one of you fucking did  _ something, _ ” the kid says with so much conviction Ollie starts. “One of you lowlife motherfuckers, think you’re so much better than everyone else-”

Next to them, Dex bristles. “What the hell is your name?” he asks, and Ollie can hear the anger in his voice. He can’t be much younger than the new kid.

“Jackson,” the new supply guy says.

“I’m gonna report you,” Dex says with so much conviction, Ollie believes it for a moment, before the world comes crashing down again his ears again and he remembers where he is.

The kid laughs.

“You’re gonna do what, now?” he says, dropping his bags, grinning. “There’s no one out here to report me too, ginger. No-fucking-one.”

“There has to be,” Dex says, tense. “There’s a system, there’re rules, there has to be-“

“There isn’t, Dex,” Holster says. “There really isn’t.”

*

Dex finds the phone.

It’s been tucked in a back corner for months, now, because no one’s gotten their arm broke off yet and it’s not like they’re really friendly with Hall and Murray anymore. Dex finds it and starts screaming, screaming about how they could report Jackson, how they could get the hell out and they’re just leaving it sitting here-

“It’s got three numbers in it, Dexy,” Ransom says, and he sounds tired, too. “Hall, Murray, and the girl who used to drop our stuff, George. They’re not going to do anything. They didn’t do anything when Lardo got taken. They didn’t do anything when people ran off. They don’t care. They don’t. That phone might as well not exist.”

“Oh,” Dex says, “Oh.”

*

Dex manipulates metal.

He bends it, changing its form over and over until you couldn’t have guessed what it was, or originally. He feels it, feels when it expands and aches and when the rusty old pipes in the Hus nearly break. He’ll sit for hours in the middle of the living room, then, fixing the pipes, pouring himself into the Haus, getting rid of it’s aches. It’s the only time he ever seems peaceful.

Metal turns to liquid in his hands, flowing like rivers of silver, and then it’ll reform itself into silverware and little metal birds, tucked back into his pockets and out of sight.

It’s beautiful.

*

“Do you get to go home?” Dex asks Ollie while they sit out on the porch, Dex listening for birds that aren’t there, Ollie listening for people who are.

“No,” Ollie says, and doesn’t tell him the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT. im so glad to finally get to share this part with you- it's been a month in the making. im still working on this thing, but school is currently killing me, and ive had a few other things start this month so i have like -2 hours of time a day. i was hoping to update twice a month, but im looking at closer to once a month from here on out to be completely honest. i highly, highly appreciate you all reading, and as always every kudos and comment makes me grin. thank you all so much, and ill be back in (hopefully less than) a month

**Author's Note:**

> Thank all of you for reading! (I know this is a bizarre au.) This is the first Check, Please fic I've written, and the first fic I've posted in over two years. I'm quite proud of it. If you liked it, please comment and leave kudos. Thank you to omgstreamplease for reading and giving me feedback (especially Avi and Sola!). The next part will be up soon. Thank you again for reading, and have a good day! (The title is taken from the oh hellos song in the blue hours of morning which is just. so very good)


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